Afterwards
by annewed
Summary: After the Battle for Hogwarts everything is changed, for George most of all. The last thing Hermione expects is to be comforting George, yet there she is. But will their relationship help George or harm them both? George/Hermione, post DH, slightly AU.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This was a little idea that jumped into my head and demanded to be written, and then morphed itself into its own little story. Not sure yet how long it will be, but it is definitely a few chapters, anyway. As always, this particular story idea is mine, but the characters and world are not._

It was decidedly not the stuff of romance novels. Badly written or otherwise.

Hermione was a realistic girl – woman – who was practical and well-read, even on this subject. Of course, having been caught reading such a book in her fifth year, she was forever after subject to Ginny Weasley's merciless teasing. But she always raised her nose in the air and scoffed when Ginny started in, because she felt it was better to be prepared than not.

She was not prepared.

How could she have been? In her imagination, or in the daydream charms Fred had continued to send her after overhearing her admiration for them (always with shockingly cheeky suggestions attached in his loopy scrawl), it was Ron in her fantasies. The object of her crushes since she was girl trying to find her way through the maze of Hogwarts corridors, the one who caused a rift of unheard of proportions in the sixth year dormitory, the one she'd kissed passionately before heading into battle. The one she'd always rather expected to marry, if she could reconcile herself to the bonding for life that was wizard marriage.

So, given that, how could she have been prepared for his brother?

It didn't take more than four trips off by themselves to an unoccupied bedroom or off to a secluded tree in the orchard before they both realized that their fumbling gropes and awkward kisses were not just the result of newness. It was actually Ron who had called it off, memorably telling her that while he'd fancied her for a long time, snogging her was worse than snogging Ginny. It was a good thing for him he'd managed to snag her wand before saying that. She still punched him. _Hard._

He was right of course. They had waited too long, there were too many idealized notions floating about, and too many memories that were more sibling-like than romantic. Though for the sake of neatness, Hermione might have plowed on for a bit longer. There was something neat and tidy about giving her virginity to Ron, and while she couldn't quite see going through with it given that there was no romantic spark at all, she felt rather adrift without the anchor of her crush on him. And if she were honest, a bit embarrassed to have helped bring down a Dark Lord but still be so sexually inexperienced.

It was almost enough to make her wish she'd taken Fred up on one of his ridiculous propositions before the war took them in different directions. Maybe she was just a romantic at heart, but it would have been somehow fitting, she thought. But she hadn't, and he had died, and left behind a very lost twin.

And that was how it all began.

-o0o-

George, at his mother's insistence, stayed with the family at the Burrow, but only for a couple of weeks. Outwardly, he was surprisingly calm, helping with funeral arrangements and sending off Fred in a style he'd have approved of – George wore swim trunks to the funeral, in honor of his brother, and set off the most spectacular fireworks display when the burial started. Everyone remarked on how together George seemed to be, and it was less than a month before George began talking about re-opening the shop that had been their dream. He was adamant that it is what Fred would have wanted. And, he informed his mother, he couldn't bloody well do it at the Burrow, with the potions he needed to keep going to restock fully.

So George moved back into the flat he'd shared with his twin, and quietly broke down there, alone, in private. It was Hermione who discovered his secret.

She floo'd over three days after he returned to the flat with a basket of goods from Mrs. Weasley, who was certain that her Georgie wasn't eating well on his own. Ron and Harry were off meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt about starting Auror training without their NEWTs and Ginny was volunteering at Hogwarts, assisting in the rebuilding efforts. Hermione offered to take the basket out of boredom and to share a strange idea she'd had with George.

He was sprawled on the sofa in the lounge, pissed beyond belief. No fewer than four empty bottles of Ogden's best surrounded him. It was clear from the stale, unwashed smell and stubble on his cheeks that he'd not bothered with showering since his return, and Hermione wondered how he'd managed to drink so much without being sick.

She gaped at him, unsure whether to cry at the sight before her or begin lecturing. George blinked at her through bleary, bloodshot eyes, and spoke in a raw, raspy voice unlike the strong charming sales voice she was used to hearing.

"What're you doing here, Granger? Mum send you to child-mind?" he slurred.

"She sent some food with me, but I came on my own. Have you eaten anything?" she tried hard to keep from sounding chastising or condescending. She knew how much they – _he –_ hated that.

"Not since . . . yesterday? The day before? Dunno. What day is it?" he drawled.

"Thursday."

"Right. Been awhile. Not hungry. You can leave the food in the kitchen if you like." He closed his eyes and laid his head back on the pillow.

"I don't think I could leave you here like this, George," she said softly.

"What're you going to do with me, Hermione? Nurse me back to health? Convince me life's beautiful and well worth living even without the person who loved me and knew me best in the world?" His voice had turned mocking. "I'm not a damned house-elf, or a little firstie who needs sorting and protecting."

"Of course you aren't," Hermione said crisply. "You're my friend, and you're grieving. You managed to hold it together far longer than anyone expected, so this isn't surprising. It's not particularly good for you, but it's not surprising."

"What, no lecture on irresponsibility?" George merely sounded tired now.

"No. You're a grown man. I don't think you'll find Fred in a bottle of firewhiskey, and I don't think it will stop the pain, but you have to decide that for yourself." Hermione sat down in the armchair near George's head.

"And just what would you know about it, Miss Prefect? Read it in a book?" There was a definite edge now, a firm anger in his tone, but his eyes glittered with tears.

"I don't know what you're going through, not exactly. Fred wasn't my twin brother, he was only my friend. But I sent my parents away to keep them safe, and they don't know I exist. I made that choice knowing if we won that they would never know it. They are alive, for all the good it does me," she said, bitterness evident in her voice.

George sat up, but immediately clutched his head. "Not a good idea," he groaned. "Going to be sick." Hermione quickly conjured a basin and shoved it before him just before he retched. He vomited up enough that it seemed to Hermione he might have taken a Puking Pastille, and she was disgusted at the warmth of the bowl she held, and the smell of the vomit, and sound of it, but what else could she do? He needed someone, and she was here.

When he seemed to have finished vomiting, he raised his head, and looked blearily at her, skin still greenish and pasty. Hermione quickly vanished the basin and it's contents, grateful to be rid of it, and in their place, she conjured a towel, which she wet with water from her wand and handed it to George.

"Here. That might help. You'll probably feel better with a fresh breath charm too, mind. Do you have any hangover potion, or do you want a sobering charm?"

"I want to be drunk. I don't want to be sober," he said, in a defeated voice.

"I believe that, but you seem to be out of firewhiskey at the moment," she said dryly. "Now, I'm not your mum, so I'm not going to cluck and scold. And I won't make you do anything, but I think you'll feel better if you sober up, try to eat something, take a shower and get to bed. Besides, I've a business proposition for you, and I want you sober enough to hear it properly. After that, if you want to go buy another bottle and drown yourself, I won't stop you."

George blinked and shook his head. He wondered vaguely if this Hermione Granger were real or if he'd been hallucinating again, as he had earlier when he could have sworn he'd held an entire conversation with Fred over one of the bottles. Fred had teased him when he cried, and soothed him, and finally made him laugh by telling him all the pranks he was playing on people on the other side. It was real enough in his drunken state that he'd have believed it actually happened, were it not for Fred telling him to get to know Granger better, because he wouldn't regret it.

Clearly, he'd been hallucinating then, and maybe he was now. This creature looked a fair amount like Hermione, but was not the judgmental know-it-all girl who had interfered so much with them in school. She was actually compassionate, in her own way. But a business proposition? There was suddenly a chuckle, full of mirth, that he never expected to hear from her.

"I'm beginning to think you don't believe I'm real, George. Come along, hangover potion or sobering charm?"

"Er, hangover potion, in the kitchen, second cabinet to the right. Blue bottle," he said, bemused. If he was hallucinating, she would go away after he took the potion. Whether he was hallucinating or not, he ought to eat, though his stomach clenched at the thought of food so soon after emptying itself of alcohol. Only a hangover potion could help that.

Hermione found the bottle, labelled with Fred's distinctive loopy handwriting, and blinked away tears. She missed him terribly; it was impossible to tell how deeply George felt his brother's loss. The whole time he stayed at the Burrow, he'd seemed so preternaturally calm, almost numb. She felt she ought to have known it would come out somehow. It was no good, him being here in this place that was just theirs, all alone.

Gathering herself, she took him the bottle, unsure of how much he would need, and guessing he would know better than she. He took it, barely giving it a glance, for which she was glad, and drank down half the bottle. The greenish tint worsened, and a sweat broke out along his brow, but within ten minutes, it had faded and he begun to look more normal. Haggard, but normal. He shook his head slowly, as if trying to shake the last cobwebs of drunkenness from his mind, and looked up at her.

"Oh, you are real then," he said, sounding faintly surprised. "I sort of thought I was hallucinating."

"Real indeed. Um, not to be offensive, but you stink, George. Why don't you shower? And I'll start up some soup. Is that gentle enough for your stomach?" she asked, all business-like.

He looked around, a little lost. "I . . . it was a mistake, coming back here," he said in a small voice. "He's still here, everywhere."

Hermione stepped towards him, and smell be damned, wrapped her arms around him snugly; a gesture he returned automatically. "I know. I'm sorry, George." He gave a sort of half-sigh, half-sob, and Hermione moved so that she was sitting beside him, sort of rocking him, as he clung to her and cried as he'd not let anyone else see, wracking sobs of loss and pain that he had held in check while others grieved.

When he was spent of that emotion, he pushed away from her, flushed and embarrassed. George had promised Fred, in one of their few moments of total sincerity when things were bad, but not yet awful, that he wouldn't mourn him like this if he died. But then, he'd never expected that one of them might actually die, or rather, he expected if one of them bit it, it would be him. Not Fred, who was always so vibrant and so alive, not Fred who could've found a way to go on without George. He'd tried, he'd tried really hard. But stepping back inside their flat – the only part of the building the Death Eaters hadn't been able to breach and trash – was a wave of pain he'd never expected. Everything was just as they'd left it, down to the dirty socks Fred always left in the hallway.

Seeing those stupid socks – black and orange stripes, with a hole in the toe – had unleashed the emotion he'd struggled to ignore, and rather than give in, he reached for the firewhiskey to try and drown it. It had worked for awhile, until he imagined Fred visiting him, until Hermione appeared and sobered him up and was so bloody _nice_ to him. George wanted to be angry with her, wanted to yell at her, to give some voice to the anger that still roiled inside him because she was here, and Fred was not, but he was too embarrassed.

Hermione, sensing that embarrassment, returned to her brisk, bright, businesslike manner. Better not to ignore his emotional outburst, better not to pretend it was out of the ordinary. After all, that stoicism had led to this drinking binge of epic proportions, and she didn't want to trigger that anew.

"Right. How're you feeling then? A bit better, I hope," she said, purposefully allowing him to choose his physical state if he'd rather.

Slowly, he nodded his head, still avoiding her eyes. "Yeah, I think I am. I'm, uh, just going to go shower, then. I think you were right, I'm a bit ripe. Frankly, you might need a shower too, after that."

He stood quickly and practically ran down the hall, in his haste to gain some space between them. She cocked her head and frowned at the empty space, before beginning to prepare a simple, easy to digest but nutritious meal from what Molly had packed and what she could rummage through the cupboards. She heard the water running, and soon a vegetable soup was simmering, so she looked around her and grimaced at the state of the flat. Neither Fred nor George had been particularly well known for their tidiness and the haste of a quick removal, three months of disuse, and George's binge hadn't left things in a generally nice state. Hermione had nothing better to do while waiting for George to emerge, and so she began cleaning. Magical cleaning spells were quick and efficient, so it wasn't long before the lounge was tidied and layers of dust disappeared, the empty bottles vanished, the table cleared, the floor gleaming and the stack of inappropriate magazines stacked neatly on the coffee table. She left them deliberately in the open, hoping they'd at least bring some amusement to George's face again. Last but not least, she conjured a small basket and levitated the small pile of laundry into it. A freshening charm finished it off, just as the soup began to threaten to boil.

She was dishing it up into newly cleaned bowls when she heard George pad quietly back down the hallway. Hermione looked up just as George stopped short. His gaze was hard to read, as he looked around him, jaw set. His eyes lingered not on the stack of adult magazines, but on the basket of laundry. Before she could open her mouth to apologize for her overstepping, he said quietly, "Thanks, Hermione. Place hasn't looked so nice since Fred wanted to impress Angelina into his bed. Maybe you could do the loo before you leave. What this, then?"

He sat down at the table, and she set the steaming soup before him, along with a slice of freshly-baked bread. A goblet filled with water stood next to a spoon. He pushed the still wet hair from his face – grown long to cover the hole where his ear should be – and attempted a lop-sided smile.

"Vegetable soup. Give it a try. I'm not a terrible cook. I think you'll feel better for it. And I'm hungry and don't like to eat alone." Hermione caught herself babbling to try and fill an awkward silence, and finally turned her attention to her own bowl. There was quiet, and the sounds of eating.

After a few bites, which stayed down better than George had any right to hope, after the massive amount of liquor and no real food he'd consumed over the last couple of days, he said, still in the quiet raspy voice, "It's really good, Hermione. Thank you."

"You're quite welcome. But you need to eat some more of it. At least finish your bowl, I didn't give you too much. And drink more water. You are no doubt terribly dehydrated."

"What with all the weeping, you mean?" he said, his tone both disdainful and defensive.

"I was thinking more along the lines of the trying to keep Ogden's in business singe-handedly, but yes, tears don't help." She returned to her attention to her soup again, and after a moment, George did the same. She heard his spoon rattle at the bottom of the bowl and looked up, pleased he was done. She finished quickly and whisked away the dishes and set them to cleaning themselves while she fetched more water for George.

He took the goblet with him, and settled into the living room again, studying his feet, eyes occasionally straying to the laundry basket again, filled with sadness and resignation. "You said you had a business proposition for me? Love to hear it."

Hermione perched herself on the edge of the sofa, near George. "You need help to re-open the store. Obviously, I'm not Fred, and can't be. But I can brew potions really well and I'm very good at charms and transfiguration. I'd like to help you, if I could, at least to get re-opened."

George raised his eyebrows. If only Fred could hear this, he'd never believe it otherwise. "I beg your pardon? I'm missing an ear, which must mean I didn't hear you correctly."

Hermione huffed, and rolled her eyes. "You heard me. I'm offering to help out in your joke-shop so you can re-open it."

"But you hate our products!" George protested, confusion evident on his face.

Hermione frowned in her turn. "No, I don't. I disapproved of you testing them on first year students without informing them of the risks. And I didn't like you encouraging students to skive off classes. But the products themselves, well, many of them are quite clever and terribly impressive, creatively and magically. I told Fred that when we visited before sixth year, when he showed us the daydream charms. I'm surprised he never told you."

"He never did, that bastard," George said, a real smile spreading across his face as he shook his head.

"He used to send me daydream charms, you know. I guess that's why I assumed he told you. I should've said something to you before. He'd send five or six at a time, nearly every week, always with a ridiculously inappropriate suggestion. It was sort of nice, especially when Ron and Lavender were together." Her smile was sad, her voice was wistful.

"That was you?" George chuckled. It was a rusty chuckle, sounding weak with disuse, and Hermione realized she had heard no laughter from him since the Battle, before Fred died. "He never would tell me who they were for, and I could never catch him out. He would always just wink and say they were his way of working on a gorgeous witch."

"I don't think he was ever seriously working on me, as you say it. He was a terrible flirt."

George looked pensive for a moment. "It's hard to say, he might have been. He and Angelina were on again and off again. Too volatile for a real relationship, but great for a satisfying shag. He liked you lot, Fred did. May've fancied you, but he'd never have told me if so. Wouldn't have told anyone until Ron made his mind about you. That's the sort of bloke he was, though not many people knew it."

Tears made fresh tracks down George's face, but he seemed unaware of them. Hermione leaned forward and brushed them away with her thumb, a tender gesture that was unplanned. He broke out of the reverie and smiled sadly at her.

"So, my proposition?"

"Why would you be interested? And what do you want?"

"I told you already, I'd like to help. And I can help. I. . . I don't know what I want to do, to be honest. Without my NEWTs, there are fewer options open, unless I want to become an Auror. I just feel that I need some time to think things through, you know? And you're my friend. Seems like you could use me, and I'd like to be used."

George's rusty chuckle emerged again at those words, and Hermione flushed.

"That's not quite what I meant, George. As for what I want, well, a salary, I suppose. It's lovely of your mum to put me up, but I think after everything, I've moved a bit beyond the coddling stage. I don't have any means of supporting myself, but I'd like to be able to get my own place at some point."

"Right. Ok. Yeah, sure. You can help out here if you like." George shrugged.

"Really? Don't you need to, I dunno, think it over or something?"

"Yeah, really, if you like. I don't much care. If you want to help, you're welcome too. Maybe you can clean things up down there like you did up here." George sounded tired, and in fact, he was slumping a bit.

"I can do that," she said quietly. "Look, why don't you go lay down? You're about to fall asleep. And that's probably a good thing."

George sighed. "Don't want to."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "George, you can't sleep comfortably out here."

"Can't," he mumbled. "Room's empty." Hermione's lips formed an "oh" but it was silent. It was only then that she realized that George hadn't slept by himself in his old room; Charlie had bunked in there with him. Being here, alone, in their bedroom after sharing a room his entire life must be awful.

"Right, I'll stay for a bit, yeah? You need some sleep." The yawn that nearly cracked his jaw made him agree. It couldn't hurt anyway, right? George nodded, and Hermione helped him up. He stumbled a bit as they moved down the hall, and tears returned to his eyes when she opened the door to their bedroom.

They had planned on separate rooms, not long before they'd been forced to flee the flat for Auntie Muriel's home. At first, neither of them really gave thought to separate rooms since they'd always shared, but they'd both realized that it was coming sooner or later. Fred had spent a few nights at Angelina's, and George a night or two at a witch's flat whose face he could remember more clearly than her name, and the brothers talked seriously about the future. Their plans, their fears. That was the conversation when they'd agreed not to mourn each other, and planned out their ridiculous funerals. It had been funny then, he recalled dimly.

Now, George was alone, supported by Hermione and the doorframe, and blinking away tears at the neatly made bed with the gold blanket with a red 'F' in the middle. Their mum had made those. George had his – red with a golden 'G', but refused to put it on his bed, saying he was too old for that. Fred had done though, laughing every time he made the bed at the absurdity of it. He blinked again and became conscious of Hermione's arm around his waist, and of his arm around her shoulders.

He squeezed her convulsively, and whispered, "I can't do it."

She leaned her head into his chest, and hugged his waist more tightly and said, firmly, "Yes, you can. You can, George."

"Stay with me," he said, pleadingly. "Don't leave me alone."

"Of course. I'll stay with you if you like. But you'll have to expand your bed. That is too tiny for both of us."

George shook his head. He fumbled for his wand, and hand shaking, raised it. A muttered incantation, and Fred's blanket was off his twin's bed and folded neatly, and had shut itself away in the closet. A swish of his wand and Fred's bed joined up with George's, and they became one with another muttered phrase. Hermione cast a discreet cleansing charm over the sheets and nudged George towards the bed. He was still shaking, and appeared to be trying not to cry. She walked around to the other side, to what had been Fred's bed, and kicked off her shoes. She magically expanded George's sheets, duvet and cover so that they were big enough for the now king-sized bed, and then slipped in.

George hovered by his side of the bed for a moment, before Hermione caused the bed to turn down. "Come on, George, you can't sleep standing up, and you need some sleep."

Hesitantly, with jerky movements that indicated how unfamiliar this was to him, how keenly his mind protested that it wasn't right, wasn't the way it ought to be, he crawled into bed, beside Hermione. She immediately curled up against his side, offering warmth and human companionship and whatever solace might be had from those. He gave another half-sob, half-sigh, and then the rusty laugh made another appearance.

"Of all the things I'd never have predicted, Hermione Granger in my bed actually tops Fred's death. I swear, Hermione, I'm usually much better in bed than this. Not a weepy mess, anyhow."

"I'm sure you are, George. No worries, I'm not busy making comparisons. Just try and get some sleep, yeah?" He sighed again, but it wasn't long before his breathing evened out and deepened.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Right, so I totally left out a couple of things in my haste to share the last, and so apologize for two chapters in a row with author notes preceding the actual story. This is a very organic piece, very different from my other current WIP. Grief is very different for people, and the expression of and experience of grief varies as much as people do; yet, my experiences with profound, deep grief and in working with others who are grieving, there are many common themes. I think that is coming out here some. I can't say that there is a definite outline or story here, it's evolving very much on its own, and I'm not subjecting it to a rigorous editing or beta process. It is necessary to note here that as with my other stories, the rating and categorization is intentional and deliberate. This is not a charming or light fiction; it deals with complex themes and will most certainly contain language and scenes of an adult, sexual nature. This is not appropriate for young audiences. Please take note before continuing._

_As always, this is only mine in so much as the flight of fancy conceived the plot; the characters and rights are not mine. I make no profit from this endeavor._

-o0o-

Chapter 2

-o0o-

Hermione waited until she was sure he was sleeping soundly, and then eased herself out of the bed. She was surprised at her reluctance, but for once she had been comfortable, and sleepy, two things that she found difficult since the war. Nevertheless, she was determined, and on a mission. And so she moved stealthily from her room down the hall to the loo. It wasn't filthy, but it wasn't exactly clean either. Within fifteen minutes, it was sparkling. At least, if George chose to drink himself sick again, there was a clean place to suffer the consequences, she thought to herself.

She checked on George then, and found him sleeping soundly, mouth open, snoring just a bit. He looked vulnerable, and for a moment, studying him, Hermione had a flash of seeing Fred in the Great Hall. She wondered how difficult it was for him, seeing his brother's face in the mirror. Maybe it was fortunate, in a twist of cruel fate or irony, that George had lost his ear before he lost his twin. People had stopped confusing them, had been better able to relate to George as his own person.

Or maybe, like everything else involved with this war, it was a bloody meaningless mess that they'd been stuck trying to clean. She was inclined towards that view at the present moment. Hermione studied George a moment longer, and then quietly let herself out of the flat and made her way cautiously downstairs.

The shop was decimated. The workroom was a disaster, though it appeared there was a good bit that would be salvageable. The sales floor was catastrophic; most of the shelves had been completely obliterated, and products were scattered everywhere. There was a particular viciousness with which the displays and fixtures had been ripped from the walls or destroyed. The smell was overwhelming, which Hermione didn't care to analyze. The doors and windows were broken, so Hermione began by repairing those. The doors needed to be stripped and painted again, but at least they were functional and could be closed. The window repair was a bit more tricky, and in the end, Hermione had to transfigure the remains of the Pygmy Puff cages into glass and fit them into the frames. Then, she began vanishing items as quickly as she could, until the store was empty of smashed, broken products, and reduced to the bare shelves.

It was more magic than she had cast in sometime, and it left her deflated and fatigued. She climbed the stairs again, grimacing at the state of the workroom, and knowing how much more delicate she would have to be around reactive ingredients. Back in the flat, she reset the wards and served herself another helping of soup. She was undecided; tired, disheveled, now sticky and sweaty, a long bath or hot shower sounded best, but leaving George alone in this state . . . she wondered if she could talk him into returning to the Burrow. It wasn't good for him to be alone, clearly.

Hermione had just cleared up the dishes for the second time, and was frowning over her options when she heard noise from the bedroom. She hurried down, to find the bed a mess, George tangled in the sheets and struggling against them, moaning to himself. It was a pitiful sound, leaving Hermione in no doubt about what haunted George's nightmare.

She knelt by the bed and gingerly touched George's cheek, and shook his shoulder. With a gasp, he sat up, panting. His eyes were wide, and he was sweaty. "Oh, gods," he gasped, over and over. Hermione freed his hand and clutched it tightly. George held on to it like he was clinging for life, the other arm flung over his eyes. Eventually, he fell quiet, and Hermione realized he was crying again. She let go of his hand, and scurried around to climb into the bed again. Once there, she drew George into her arms and simply held him, stroking his long hair away from his face, as tears rolled from his eyes. When the tears began to dry up, and George was reduced to sniffling now and again, Hermione pressed a kiss to his forehead.

It was meant to be a comforting sort of gesture, something her mother had always done for her; what she couldn't explain was why she then went on to kiss each cheek, wet with tears, or why she pressed a soft kiss on his lips. It was purely instinctive, something she would be unable to explain, but she was the one to kiss first. Had she been with anyone else, it might have ended with that soft kiss, as a token between friends, a sweet, simple gesture.

But she wasn't with just anyone, she was with the surviving Weasley twin. Had he not been grieving, had he been thinking clearly, it's unlikely he would have done what he did next. Perhaps that is unfair, he and Fred had always been known for their spontaneity and their ability to think on their feet, so there is some chance he'd have acted similarly in a different situation, and wrapped his arms around her in such a way that she was effectively trapped in the bed and proceed to really kiss her. What might have happened was the furthest thing from Hermione's mind, however. Instead, she was completely engrossed in what _was_ happening, in the kiss she was sharing with George, because oh yes, she was kissing him back as eagerly as he was kissing her. Tongues clashed and tasted and wrestled and stroked, lips moved amidst gentle nibbles and it was wonderful and encompassing. It was not long before they were winding themselves around each other, trying to get as close as possible, before George broke away from her mouth to trail hot kisses down Hermione's jaw and throat.

Hermione gave no thought to the fact that she was sweaty and gross, or to any fact beyond what George was doing to her at that moment, which was snaking a hand beneath her shirt and fumbling to reach her breast, and massaging it roughly when he did. She focused on kissing his neck, running her hands through his long hair, pulling him back into another long kiss until they were both breathless. All the while, George groped her body roughly, whatever he could reach, pulling her leg over his hip to better grind his growing erection against her. She had never done anything like this before and found herself desperate for the contact, a vague need urging her body to meet his in a parody of sex. George reached climax first, with a grunt, and that noise brought Hermione tumbling back to earth. Her body was still tense, her breathing ragged, her lips swollen, but consciousness flooded back in, and she was flushing with embarrassment and shame.

George took no notice, however. He nuzzled her neck, nipping at her earlobe, as he fumbled to undo the zip of her jeans. Torn between the unfulfilled longing and her discomposure, she lay still, and allowed him to proceed. In moments, his long fingers had slipped inside her jeans and her knickers even and she was quickly losing logical thought, as George found the spot that had been aching for contact, and began teasing it in earnest. He paid little heed to her whimper or sighs, and claimed her mouth for another scorching kiss. Hermione could feel tension building quickly low in her abdomen, her hips thrust against George's hand of their own accord. He kissed his way to her ear and as she thrust again, he whispered with hot breath into her ear, "Come on, Hermione, let it happen." And she bit her lip, and closed her eyes and then was shuddering as the tension exploded from her body in shock waves. It was all she could do to keep from moaning his name aloud.

She stilled, and tried to catch her breath as George withdrew his hand from her knickers. He muttered a charm over himself before turning to look at Hermione, with a lopsided smile, which she tried to return. Really though, she was overtaken by an absurd urge to cry. That was an incredible feeling, but she had never intended for anything like that to happen, not with George, and certainly not while he was in such a state. Still, he looked more relaxed than he had yet. He reached out to brush a curl behind her ear.

"I'm sorry," she said abruptly. "I didn't mean. . ." George put a finger over her lips.

"Thank you," he said in a low voice. "That's almost precisely what I needed." Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion. "A distraction," he clarified. "Not bad, as they go. Though next time, I suggest we lose the clothes, and try a proper shag." The smile she saw earlier peeked out again, and something approaching the amusement she was used to hearing in his voice washed over her.

"I feel like I took advantage of you," she confessed. "I never intended for, um, that to happen."

"Then Hermione, love, feel free to use me whenever you like," he said, even drawing out an eyebrow waggle that would have gotten a huff and a glare under any other circumstances. "Really. I needed that." He stretched a bit, and then sighed. "What time is it?"

Hermione consulted her watch; it was teatime, and she said as much. "I've been here far longer than I intended to be. I don't want anyone to worry about me." She looked at George and bit her lip; his face fell at her words and the lost look returned again.

"Do you think. . ." he paused, hesitating. "Do you think, maybe, you could stay tonight?"

"I don't know that that's a good idea, George. I can only imagine how difficult it is to be here alone. Maybe it would be better for you to come back to the Burrow. Or maybe Charlie would be willing to come stay out here with you."

George shook his head. "I don't want them. The way they look at me drives me mental. They still see him, for an instant. Then there is so much sadness, so much pity, it's suffocating. Fred didn't want to be remembered that way. I promised him, Hermione. I can't be there and get on with my promise. But this is hard."

Hermione squeezed his shoulder in sympathy. "You don't do that though, Hermione. You could always tell us apart, always treated us as individuals. It's just easier around you. Around them, I'm expected to be devastated."

"Fred was your twin. You were individuals, but you took trouble to act interchangeably. You stuck together after Hogwarts, lived and worked together. It's no surprise that they still think of you as a package. And even if you promised him not to grieve for him, he was your brother, and more than just your brother. It's normal to grieve."

"I don't want to talk about it, Hermione. It's fine if you don't want to stay. Really. We're friends, but we've never been that close or anything. There's no good reason for you to stay. But I'm not going back to the Burrow tonight." George pushed himself up and off the bed, and strode out into the hall.

Hermione sighed, and then followed him. "That's not what I'm saying, George. I am your friend, I'm just worried about you, all right? Let me go back to the Burrow, and get some clothes, all right? I'll tell your mum I'm sleeping on the couch and helping you get the shop in order. It's true enough, anyway."

Before George could say anything else, she had disapparated. He blinked, shook his head, and rummaged through the food his mum had sent. There were preserves and fruits under preservation charms, a roast of all things, bread, biscuits, a chocolate cake. It was in no way different from what she had been sending since they left Hogwarts; enough food to keep him and Fred fed for a week, longer if they did some cooking on their own, which they always did. His face twisted and his nose prickled when he pulled out the jar of apricot marmalade. Mum always sent a jar for Fred, who inexplicably loved that shite. George never cared for it, sticky and overly sweet. He wondered if it was her habit, or if she thought they'd both loved it, or if she just hadn't considered when packing that Fred was dead and gone and George might not want a bloody jar of bloody apricot marmalade reminding him of the fact.

The crack of apparition startled him and he dropped the jar, cursing as it shattered on the floor. Hermione's arms were filled with a rucksack of clothes and toiletries and two big boxes from his mum, no doubt containing more food, lest he allow Hermione to starve to death in the next night or two.

She set the food on the table, and set her rucksack on the floor, before peering to see what the crashing sound had been. "Oh, I'm sorry, George. I didn't mean to startle you. And now the whole bottle is gone to waste."

George shook his head ruefully and vanished the mess himself. "Not your fault. I guess I'm still jumpy. 'S all right. I never liked that stuff, Fred did. I would've thrown it out anyway."

"Right. Well. Your mum seems pleased you won't be here alone, though she asked several times where precisely I'd be sleeping," Hermione said, more than a hint of question in her voice as well.

"Wherever you like, Granger. The bed's now more than big enough for the pair of us, but if you're not sleeping in there, I'm not either," he said stubbornly. "Anyway, Mum sent a roast over earlier, and it seems she's sent even more over now. How much does she think I can eat, anyway? You hungry?"

"I ate some soup earlier, but I could do with a sandwich, I suppose. Have you eaten anything?"

George shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Hermione. I'll make some sandwiches. I'm sure you'd like to shower. We'll just reverse roles, I suppose." He turned away from her at that point, and left with little else to do, Hermione shrugged and went to shower.

She emerged much cleaner some time later, glad she had thought to clean the loo earlier that day. George was sitting in the lounge, feet on the coffee table, plate resting on his lap, chewing quietly. He tilted his chin towards the plate resting on the coffee table. Hermione took his hint and settled beside him, sitting cross-legged on the couch, resting the plate on her knee.

Once George had swallowed, he said, "Hope this doesn't bother you too much. To be honest, we almost never ate at the table. I added some hot mustard, but if you don't like it -"

"No, it's fine, George, really. Thanks," Hermione cut him off. They ate in silence for some time, before Hermione found a topic she considered a safe one.

"So, uhm. What did you and Fred do here, by yourselves? In the evenings, I mean. It's very quiet."

"Yeah, usually it is, down here anyway, since this side of the Alley is almost entirely retail. If we weren't brewing potions or replenishing stock, you mean? That took up a lot of time, really. It's going to be rough getting things built up all over again. If we weren't working on stock, we were inventing or researching. Sometimes we went out with our mates, Angelina was over a lot when she and Fred weren't fighting. Really, we were pretty quiet."

Hermione raised a sceptical eyebrow. "That surprises me, I guess."

"It shouldn't. We were the same when we lived at home. You were around often enough to know that," George sounded faintly amused. "It takes a lot of time to do everything we do. Did, rather, I guess."

There was an uncomfortable silence until Hermione cleared her throat. "With just two people, I'm sure that's true. I expect it will be a lot of hard work to reopen. Did you ever write your potions recipes down?"

George swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded. "Course we did. We created a lot by messing about, testing ingredients and strengths. But for mass production, you have to be precise. I keep good notes while inventing and once we've tested things correctly, I add it to the book. Fred charmed that thing a hundred different ways, it's pretty indestructible."

George set his plate down, no longer interested in food. Hermione chewed slowly, conscious of the sound of her eating filling the room. She swallowed and suddenly said, "What was the best prank Fred ever played on you?"

George raised an eyebrow at her, almost in disbelief. "Are you serious?" he asked.

"Yeah. Tell me."

"Right. Uh, mostly we didn't prank each other. Have to trust each other to pull off the big pranks, and not be worried about getting hit yourself. But we did every now and then, when we got bored. And our birthday was a total free for all. I think the time he really got me was our twelfth birthday. . ." George seemed to loosen up some as he told Hermione a story she'd never heard before about Fred and a wicked sense of humor. By the end, he was smiling, and chuckling.

"I got him back though. It was a lot more subtle, but I managed to turn his feet purple. Stayed that way for two weeks. Course, no one else knew, 'cause he wore socks and shoes, but it was good enough for me." He looked at Hermione, who was smiling, resting her chin in one hand as she listened to him. "Why did you ask me? No one seems to want to talk about him."

Hermione shrugged. "I'm interested. He's gone, and it hurts a lot right now. But he lived a pretty full life. Why not remember that and honor it? Remembering hurts a bit, but I think it feels better too. No one ever talks about my parents either. It's not the same, because they are alive at least. But people are afraid to mention them, afraid to hurt me more. I'd rather they did, because it feels like a taboo topic."

George nodded his understanding. "And you aren't sure what you are allowed to say, because you don't want to make other people uncomfortable. But it's this huge aspect of your life you can't say anything about. I start to say something about Fred and everyone freezes. Only, he was my other half, and we did everything together, so not mentioning him means not mentioning practically anything."

Hermione blinked to clear the sudden wetness in her eyes. "Right. Yes, that's how it is. It's not bad enough I've lost them, it's like I've lost all my history with them as well," she said softly. "Only it's worse, because they aren't dead. And I know how lucky I am -"

George cut her off. "No, you've still lost them. They're alive, but the essence of them, your relationship with them is gone. It's ok to be sad about that. I'm sorry I haven't asked about them."

Hermione's lips quirked up a bit. "You've had things on your mind. No one does, George. It's all right. None of you really knew them, anyhow. It's only that sometimes it's hard to remember they were real, that my life with them wasn't just a dream." Hermione drew her knees to her chest and hugged them, making her look both vulnerable and defensive. George cocked his head and looked at her, studied her for a moment.

"Tell me about them. What was your favorite memory of them?"

Hermione smiled. "There were too many good memories. I think when we learned I was a witch was a good one. I don't suppose you've ever heard this story, have you?" George shook his head, and Hermione proceeded to tell him about her visit from Minerva McGonagall when she turned eleven to explain her magical abilities and invite her to attend Hogwarts. Tears shimmered in her eyes at one point, but mostly, she smiled, even making George laugh at her parents' incredulity at the situation.

Silence fell over them again briefly, but it was less strained or heavy than before. Hesitantly, Hermione reached across the space between them and rested a hand on George's knee. "Just so you know," she said quietly, "you can always, always talk about Fred to me. I'll always listen."

George curled his hand around hers, and squeezed it, perhaps a bit harshly, and swallowing hard, said, "Thank you. For, uh, everything. I don't want to be alone right now if I'm not drunk. I don't think I could handle it."

"It's fine," she whispered. They sat together like that for a long while, until a yawn cracked Hermione's jaw wide open.

"Oh, I expect you're pretty tired. Bed, then?" George released her hand and stood up.

"I suppose. Are you sleepy, then? You slept for a long time this afternoon."

"I was drunk for three days. I could use some quality rest," he admitted.

"Right. Well, uh, if you're sure about sharing the bed. . ." Hermione trailed off and her cheeks tinged pink, remembering what happened last time they shared the bed.

George gave her the same lopsided smile he had after that incident. "Hands to myself, I promise, Hermione." She blushed fully at that point, earning a small snort of laughter from George. "I won't sleep in there by myself. I don't care otherwise."

"Fine. I'm just going to go change in the loo then." Hermione scampered down the hall, still feeling the heat on her cheeks from her embarrassment. She refused to give it any more thought than that, because she was simply here to help and comfort George. By her presence, that's _all_. If she happened to be perhaps a smidgeon attracted to him (because, if she were honest, his kisses were the best she had ever had), well, that was entirely beside the point. Berating herself, she removed her bra and pulled on the tank top she normally slept in and dug out the pyjama bottoms she preferred from her bag, and hurriedly shoved her clothes back in their place in her bag.

George was waiting for her when she opened the door, leaning against the wall across the corridor. The lights in the lounge and kitchen had been extinguished, and the only light was from the loo and George's wand. He looked sheepish.

"I didn't want to go in by myself," he admitted. Hermione only nodded and took his free hand in her own, and they walked the rest of the way down the hall together. She heard George take a deep breath when they reached the bedroom, but he stepped through just fine, and gave a little sigh. Hermione released his hand and set her rucksack down in the corner of the room and turned a little shyly to George.

"So, uhm. Good night, then," she said with half a smile. She fiddled with her hair for a moment, feeling uncertain. George lit a single candle, and set his wand beside it before turning back to her. Unexpectedly, he touched her cheek and then kissed her forehead softly, and wrapped his long arms around her in a full, warm embrace.

"Thanks again for staying," he whispered. "Good night."

He released her, and quickly climbed into bed. She walked to the other side and did the same. They lay apart from each other, an appropriate amount of space between them, both quiet. Hermione was tired, her eyes were heavy, but she couldn't ignore the near presence of George. He was no closer than Ron or Harry had been on their trip through the wilds of England, but she was far more aware of him.

For his part, George was conflicted. The weight of the day, and his binge, and his sadness was pressing down on him. It was easier than it had been, with Hermione there. But she wasn't Fred. Her quiet breathing was a completely different volume and rhythm. Her little movements caused different sounds. And she was right beside him, which was terribly distracting. He'd shared a bed with a witch more than once, but never quite so platonically. Right, their little interlude earlier had been anything but platonic, and maybe that was part of the problem. He'd said it was a distraction, and it was. A bloody good one. But he'd never given particular thought to Hermione as female before, and certainly not a sexual one at that. Until today that is. And now he couldn't stop bloody thinking about her in a sexual context.

In a huff of frustration, he rolled over, and studied her in the faint candlelight. Her eyes were closed, but he didn't think she was sleeping. Her breathing was too irregular.

"Hermione?" he whispered.

Her eyes opened a crack, and she turned her head towards him. "Yes, George?"

"Can I ask you a personal question?" he asked softly.

"Sure," she said sleepily.

"Are you a virgin?" he asked without hesitation.

Her eyes popped open. "Why on earth are you asking me that?" she said, a hint of heat in her voice.

"Because I want to know, obviously." He pushed himself up on an elbow and looked at her, his face curious, but not mischeivous or malicious.

"Of course I am. When would I have had opportunity to shag someone? Your brother and I danced around each other for years, and the only other bloke I dated was when I was fifteen. I wasn't ready to visit a broom cupboard with Viktor, let alone shag him." Her cheeks were scarlet with embarrassment.

"Ok," was all George said as he laid back down. It was Hermione's turn to roll over and look at him.

"Ok? What does that mean?" she asked, confusion in her voice.

He turned to her again so they were now facing each other and gave a half-shrug. "It means all right, thanks for the answer. It was a factual question, Hermione. I'm sorry if I offended you."

"No, no I'm not offended. I'm just, I dunno, confused. Why do you want to know? What difference does it make?"

"None, I suppose. We were just rather intimately involved earlier today. I was thinking about it. Made me wonder, so I asked."

"Oh," was all she said. "Wasn't it obvious?" she asked after a moment's hesitation.

"Hmm? No," George said sounded puzzled. He tilted his head to look at her more closely. "You're embarrassed."

"Yes," Hermione responded, not meeting his eyes.

"Why would you be?"

"Well, it's an embarrasing topic and an embarrassing thing to admit and I've never done anything like what we did with someone else." Now, her fingers were twisting round the sheet, fidgeting.

"Everyone starts out as a virgin, Hermione. It's not a big deal. I won't tease you anymore about shagging though," he said, a half smile on his face.

"Oh, no," she said quickly. "That's ok. I mean, I don't mind. Rather, I mean -"

George gave her a full smile now. "What do you mean, Hermione?" He sounded rather as if he were trying not to laugh.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "I mean, it's fine. I, um, actually, well, enjoyed myself this afternoon. So. I don't mind if you tease me. I guess it's probably weird for you though. I'm probably like another sister or something." Hermione stopped rambling and bit her lip and closed her eyes, waiting for the humiliation she expected to come. Instead, George brushed a curl out of her face, tenderly. She looked at him, and his face was unreadable. Dark, a hint of pain in his eyes, but closed off, though a faint smile remained on his face.

"No, I don't think of you as a sister. Not at all," he said. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. I did too."

They were quiet for a time, looking at each other. Hermione was unsure what to do or say, or what she wanted him to do or say. George was hesitating, looking at her, beginning to appreciate how pretty she was, seeing her vulnerability. He wasn't himself, but then, he would never be himself again. Still, there was something holding him back from closing the distance between them, and kissing her again. It wasn't desire, that was there, but some other unspoken, unnamed apprehension.

And then Hermione yawned. She tried to hide it, but it was clear that she was fighting sleep, watching him, waiting. The moment, whatever it might have been, had passed. "Budge up over here, Hermione," he finally said, his voice low. She scooted closer to him, and he wrapped an arm around her. "Now go to sleep, yeah?"

Within a few moments, her breathing became slower and deeper. He held onto her, and felt the pit of sadness and loss in his stomach unclench just a bit. She wasn't Fred, and it was all different, but at least he wasn't alone. That was the thought echoing his head as he too succumbed to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_Standard disclaimer: I found [these characters] my own, and yet not my own. (bonus points for recognizing that butchered quote!)_

-o0o-

Chapter 3

-o0o-

Hermione became vaguely aware of sunlight on her face, but she was warm and comfortable, and tried to ignore it, but it seeped into her consciousness. With a start, she was suddenly and quickly awake, a habit developed on the run. It took a moment to recall her location, and another moment to realize that she was completely wrapped up in George's arms, and pulled flush against his body.

She didn't want to move. And that was wrong. What was wrong with her? When had she developed an interest in George? Hermione was frustrated with herself, but also with the fact that she couldn't see a way to move that wouldn't disturb George. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and simply enjoyed the closest and most comforting physical contact she'd had since sending her parents to Australia. It wasn't something she thought much about, but there was a loneliness that plagued her. Molly Weasley was generous with her hugs, but Hermione had pulled away from many of them so that she wouldn't be overwhelmed by the sense of loss that welled up in her when the maternal woman was near. And since they'd established their friendship over a romantic relationship, there was only limited contact between Hermione and Ron, as with Hermione and Harry.

She missed the comfort of casual affection. George was asleep, unaware, but for the moment she allowed herself to savor being held, it didn't matter. But after a moment, she tried gently to disentangle herself. As she feared though, her movement awakened George.

"Wassamatter?" he mumbled, nearly incoherent.

"Hey," she said in a near-whisper. "It's morning." The only response from George was a low grunt. "George, you can go back to sleep, but I'm awake."

George's arms tightened around her, and his head hooked over her shoulder, his breath warm and tickling against her ear. "Don't go yet," he said, his voice low and rumbly. Hermione's eyes closed and she couldn't help the little shiver that swept over her.

"George, I -" she began, but his hands had started wandering, and she cut herself off, biting her lip as he gently cupped her breast, running his thumb over the peak of her nipple.

"Shhhh. If you start talking, you'll start thinking. Don't over-think it, just relax," he whispered. His lips pressed a feather-light kiss a spot just behind her ear, once, then twice. There was feeling of warm liquidity spreading through her body, and a sense of anticipation. George's hand was moving slowly, wandering over her side, occasionally brushing her breast. He shifted a bit, so that he could kiss more of her neck. His actions were leisurely, but so arousing. Even if she'd wanted to call a halt, she didn't think she was capable at this point. George finally returned to her breast, now kneading it more forcefully, and she arched into him. There was a moment, where he rubbed himself against her and she did the same, and then with a noise like a small growl, he pulled away and rolled Hermione onto her back, tugging at her tank top as he did so.

She helped him remove it, all feelings of consciousness or shyness buried beneath the desire he'd awoken in her. She was rewarded by his mouth immediately finding her breast, and she groaned. His hands were everywhere, clever fingers working at her, diving beneath her pyjama pants, teasing her, constant in their attention, until she cried out, a cry ripped from her by her orgasm. But even as she gasped for air, George was there, claiming her mouth with a deep, satisfying kiss. Then he pulled away and winked at her.

"Now that is the best way to start the day," he said in a cheeky tone. Before Hermione could say anything, George swung his long legs around, hopped off the bed and disappeared from the room. Hermione felt undone, confused about what had just happened. She puzzled over it for a moment, and then slowly drew her tank top back on and followed.

George was rummaging through the boxes of food, and looked up with a brief smile as Hermione approached. She was too uncertain about what had occurred to do more than glare at him.

"What, exactly, was that?" she finally blurted out.

If anything, the smile grew, approaching a grin, as George looked up at her. "My way of saying thanks for spending the night?"

Hermione blinked. "George, I don't -"

"Look, you said yesterday you were afraid of having taken advantage of me. And that I thought of you as a sister. I just wanted to show you that neither of those things are true. Don't over-analyze it, Granger. You'll just give yourself a headache. You want breakfast? There are scones and Mum sent eggs from the hen-house."

Hermione's mouth dropped open and she stared at George for a moment. This behavior was just odd. That might even be an understatement. Yesterday, he'd been dead pissed and in the midst of an emotional breakdown once she'd sobered him up. Today he was energetic, teasing, playful. It was eerie, honestly. Hesitantly, Hermione walked carefully around to George, and touched his arm. He stiffened immediately, but talked even more quickly.

"I can cook, you know. Not as well as Mum, but I was better at it than Fred. So there are eggs and sausages, if you want a fry-up. I can even do tomatoes and potatoes if you like. But if not, that's ok. I remember at Hogwarts that you didn't always eat a lot. Tea. Yes, you want tea? Let me get the kettle on."

"George! Stop, just for a moment," Hermione said a bit desperately. His eyes were bright, his hands holding the kettle visibly shaking. "Ok. Right. I'm not particularly hungry right now. Tea and scones are fine, yeah?" She took the kettle from his hands and filled it and set it on the stove, and then turned to him.

He looked so lost and forlorn, her heart clenched. "George, it's not that I didn't enjoy that, it just confused me. I don't understand what is going on right now," she said, carefully choosing her words.

He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone on like that without discussing it with you first. I wasn't trying to offend you."

"I'm not offended. It's nothing like that. It just took me by surprise. And this. . ."

George sat down in an armchair and slumped low. "I'm making a mess of things. I'm sorry, Hermione." He looked dejected.

Hermione sighed and walked over to him, sitting down near him on the couch. "Don't apologize, it's not necessary. Really, George, I'm a capable witch, I can stop you if I'm not interested. I'm just trying to understand."

"I didn't notice he was gone," he said suddenly, with vehemence. "Not at first. You woke me up, and you looked so gorgeous and sexy, all tousled and pouty. And I remembered what you said and wanted you to be more comfortable with me and then I came out here and it hit me. He's dead, Hermione. And here I'm messing about with you in his bedroom, like it doesn't matter."

The bitterness and self-recrimination in his voice made her wince. Before she could speak, the kettle whistled a loud, off tune rendition of something that might have been either 'Rule Britannia' or 'Itsy Bitsy Spider' – it was hard to say. Hermione set to making tea quietly and efficiently, her brow furrowed with a familiar look of intense concentration that was often present when she tried to puzzle something out.

When it had steeped long enough, she carried two mugs into the lounge and resumed her seat. George cradled his mug without drinking it. Hermione sipped at hers slowly as she continued to consider.

"George, what would Fred have done if he woke up curled around a witch?"

"Shagged her senseless if she let him and come downstairs to brag about it later," he said promptly, a smile ghosting his face.

"And what would he say about you having a willing witch in your bed and ignoring her in favor of mourning him?"

There was a flash of anger on George's face. "That's unfair, and you know it, Hermione. You were the one telling me yesterday that it was ok to mourn."

"It is," she replied. "I'm just trying to point out that you don't have to feel guilty for not remembering every second of the day. Yesterday, you were grateful for the distraction. Look, there's no guide for how to feel. It'll change. That's normal."

"God, what did you read a book about grief or something, Hermione?" he said, anger clearly still apparent.

"If you'd rather I left, I will," she said quietly. "I only want to help, George. Maybe that means I irritate you by saying something trite. Or doing something I oughtn't to do. But I'm trying."

George slumped forward again, putting his head in his hands. "I'm sorry, Granger. I'm a berk, I know."

"George, stop apologizing to me. You're not a berk, I'm not offended, you are just going to have some moments, you know? You're allowed them. Are you going to drink your tea?" He dutifully picked up the mug and drained a portion of the contents. "So. . . did you want to get started downstairs today? I dunno if you're feeling quite up to it yet, but I cleared out most of the sales floor. The workroom is a disaster and there are ingredients everywhere, which will take some special handling. And I'm not entirely sure of everything you had." Hermione bit her lip.

George sighed. "The whole point in coming back was to open the shop up again. I've already wasted three days, I suppose I can manage some time. Easier down there than up here."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked with a puzzled frown.

"At some point, I'm going to have to go through his things, I suppose. Can't just leave them there forever. Even if they just go back to the Burrow for Mum to keep. . ." his voice trailed off.

"I suppose," Hermione said, doubt coloring her voice.

"Not yet," George said emphatically. "Not today. Let's eat, and then we can go downstairs and get started."

-o0o-

Five hours later, Hermione was drenched in sweat,smudges of dirt marred every bit of her and there was a burn on her right arm. George looked no better; maybe even worse, as a cut on his cheek had bled some.

At least the workroom was no longer as dangerous as it had been.

They had started by trying to clear what they could, but it was a tedious process, requiring a good deal of concentration. George had tried to determine how much of the potions stock would be usuable, but the answer was disappointing; many ingredients required specific storage and handling, and even if they appeared to be intact, there was no reason to assume the Death Eaters or Snatchers hadn't tampered with them. He finally just resorted to what Hermione had done the day before and began vanishing the lot. The remaining two hours had consisted of cleaning charms and repair work in both the workroom and the the sales floor.

Looking around, Hermione noted with grim satisfaction that it was worlds better than when she'd first set foot inside the day before. But the satisfaction was minimal as she considered how much work was before them to restock and reopen the store.

George pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes and sighed as he surveyed the place that had previously been the home of his dream with his brother. The only good news was that the Death Eaters had completely missed the hidden cellar that comprised their storeroom and office. Of course, they were meant to do, but it was still a relief. There was no way they were going to be able to take their stock with them when they fled to Muriel's, so they left it at the store, as well concealed as they could possibly make it. Hermione sagged in relief when he revealed the location to her. It wasn't enough to restock everything, by far, but it was something, anyway.

"Time for a break, I think," George said, sounding tired. Hermione couldn't argue. "After we get cleaned up, I'll start a list of ingredients and supplies that need to be laid in so we can get started. It'll take a day, maybe two, to get everything in."

They both trooped upstairs. Once they had reached the flat, they both paused, realizing they both needed to shower, and that neither of them particularly wanted to wait. One glance made it clear that they would not be sharing a shower; they both looked far too self-conscious. Whatever had happened, or might happen, in the bedroom had not really been discussed, and until it was, there was unlikely to be any really deliberate movements from either of them.

Hermione finally broke the stalemate by saying, "Look, go ahead. You need to get that cut taken care of. I'll wash up and start lunch, all right? Besides you're probably faster than me anyhow." George shrugged and hurried into the loo. Hermione cast _scourgify_ on her hands and began digging through the food from Mrs. Weasley and preparing lunch.

It was less than a quarter of an hour when George reappeared, looking far more clean and relaxed. He took over preparations from Hermione and nudged her towards the bathroom. She didn't require a great deal of encouragement, seeking only fresh clothes to change into before locking herself into the loo. She felt more tired than she had in weeks, in a good sort of way, she supposed. Life since the war had ended had been different, and Hermione had felt without purpose. Of course she had assisted in restoring the Burrow, but with so many people to help, it was done quickly. She'd offered to help at Hogwarts, but had been encouraged by Kingsley Shacklebolt to avoid places like that, because of the lingering threats. Having a direction again, at least for the short term, saddled as it was by her awareness of George's struggles, well, it helped her.

The hot water poured over her, and she allowed it for a moment, a luxury. She tried to keep her mind blank, but George intruded. What was happening? Just a strange form of grief and distraction that could have between either of them and someone else? Merely unresolved sexual tension? One thing was certain, if she was going to stay here, they would have to talk about it soon.

Her resolve in place, she finished her ablutions quickly and redressed herself with haste; she was hungry. George was again seated in the lounge, feet on the coffee table, plate beside him, but he'd waited for her. Hermione sank down gratefully, and began eating with a gusto normally reserved for Weasleys, while George ate slowly.

"Better now?" he finally asked, voice filled with some amusement.

She blushed. "Sorry, yeah. I was famished. All this magic is more than I've done in months and it's sapping my energy I suppose. I know I ought to get back to it, but now the edge is off, I'm feeling a bit tired."

"Not surprising. I could use a nap myself. But I've got work to do, I suppose. Better to get on with it." George seemed a bit spent, but more calm and focused than he had been this morning. Perhaps the labor was the best distraction. They ate in silence for a bit before George spoke again.

"Look, Hermione, I wanted to let you know I appreciate what you've been doing for me. We didn't really finalize anything yesterday, and we probably should." He looked a bit uncomfortable.

"Yes, right. That's probably a good idea," she said in noncommittally.

"The thing is, the shop does really well. We pulled in a great deal of money before we went into hiding, and even then we did all right. But we tied up a lot of our earnings in investments. Bill's idea. The problem is that what is liquid right now is probably going to be used for restocking. I will absolutely pay you a fair wage, but I may not be able to pay for awhile."

"I see. It's not a problem, really. I don't mind staying at the Burrow for now. Just having some plans and direction and knowing I will have funds eventually is good enough for me for now. This wasn't meant to be a long-term partnership or anything. Just a . . . mutually beneficial relationship."

"Right, well, that's fine, but I was going to ask you – offer rather, I suppose – but if you'd rather not," George was mumbling, and his remaining ear was turning red.

"Yes, George?" she asked, suddenly a bit breathless.

"I was going to say, well, you can stay here. So you don't have to stay at the Burrow. At least until I can pay you what I'll owe. Give you a bit of independence, like. I'm sure Mum would be happier knowing I'm not alone here. And, well," he cleared his throat. "I'd rather not be alone."

Hermione bit her lip, considering. "I dunno, George. I'm not sure it's a good idea, really. Not that I don't appreciate it. And I'm happy to stay another couple of days, at least until things are in better order, but well. I'm not sure."

"What's so bad about it?" His voice sounded more curious than anything.

Hermione blushed. "Look, I want to help you George, and I understand why being alone is unpleasant, but . . . living with you . . . it doesn't seem right."

"How do you mean?"

"Where would I be sleeping, George?" she demanded. "In your bed?"

"Is it so bad?" he asked, his voice low.

"No, but that's rather the problem, isn't it?" she said with asperity. "What are we doing, George? Have you ever thought about dating me? I never gave that sort of thought to you. And yet, I've been in your bed and have done intimate things with you that I've never done with the boys I did date. And I don't want you to think I didn't enjoy them, it's just that it's confusing, yeah?"

George looked a little lost. "I don't know, Hermione. All right? I don't know what we're doing. I'm not sure." His head hung a bit.

Hermione gently touched his hand, a gesture of apology. "I'm not trying to upset you, or back you into a corner or anything. I'm just trying to explain why I feel reticent about moving in here. It's a lovely offer, but I guess I'd rather that our relationship be more defined before I felt comfortable with it. And frankly, I don't want to begin a relationship with you right now. It's too complicated. Working together and both of us trying to figure out things now. . . that's a recipe for disaster, don't you think?"

"I don't know, Hermione. There is such a thing as over-thinking something. It's a fault you are too apt to fall into. Sometimes the best idea aren't planned, they simply happen. Why worry about defining things?"

"I like to know where the boundaries are, and how things stand," she said quietly. "I've never just had a physical relationship, George."

"Maybe it's time you tried one. What was it you said just then? Mutually beneficial relationship? I like you in my bed, Hermione. I like your body, and what it does to mine, and what I can do to yours," he said, suddenly looking at her in a way that few other men had. She felt warm and flushed, just from that look.

"We're friends, George. I value your friendship. I don't want to lose that," she said, even as part of her groaned in frustration at the words.

"If it isn't working out, you can go back to the Burrow, all right? Or to your own place. Please, Hermione. Don't leave me here alone," he ended with a whispered plea.

She could not possibly refuse that raw pain and bewildered note in his voice. It would be too cruel. He was her friend, after all. And it was true enough that if they were both here, it would allow for faster restocking, because they could take it in shifts to monitor potions that would otherwise have to be put in stasis. . .

She sighed, but before she could give her agreement, he spoke suddenly. "Look, I'll add another room. It can be yours, if you prefer. Then you can have some privacy and set some boundaries or whatever. It would still be better than being alone."

Pursing her lips, Hermione thought it over. She would have said yes anyhow, but this was a better arrangement, as far as she could see. Yes, better by far. The last thing she wanted was for George to replace the firewhiskey with her presence. If there was even the slimmest chance that they might pursue a relationship of some kind other than friendship, she needed to know it wasn't out of grief and desperation on his part.

"Yes, all right," she finally acquiesced. "But you are telling your mum, not me."

-o0o-

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, and quietly. Hermione set herself to reorganizing the kitchen and stocking away all of the food Mrs. Weasley had sent, and making a list of what would need to be purchased. George did as he promised and began writing out the stock he required to replenish the store. Lists in hand, they went together to the post-office to send off their requests. Diagon Alley was in the process of rebuilding as well. More people were about, but there was, as yet, not much lingering or greeting between people. As more shops re-opened and more people felt comfortable again, as the images and reminders of the war and oppression faded, things would likely change. But that sort of thing didn't happen overnight, not when everyone remembered how premature the celebrations had been the first time.

Conscious of Kingsley's warnings to her, Hermione didn't linger, and her wand was kept at hand the entire trip. Without realizing it, she had adopted the attitude she always held during the horcrux hunt – tense, alert, ready for any signs of danger. George noticed though; the tautness in her shoulders looked nearly painful. He knew that they had gone through a great deal that he couldn't imagine, just as he doubted she could really understand what it was like for him and Fred to be walking that tightrope in the middle of Diagon Alley. But seeing her scurry through the Alley, tense, almost frightened, trying not to draw attention to herself, trying to watch every possible thing, made him feel a sense of protectiveness he hadn't experienced towards her before. A surge of protectiveness, overshadowed with a swell of gratitude, and longing.

As he let them back into the shop, casting protective wards behind them, he looked at her for a moment. There was a flash through his mind of his brother laughing, eyes twinkling with good humor but also something indefinable, noticeable to George, but not understood by him, sending off those bloody Daydream Charms, refusing to say who they were for. He sent them even when he was shagging Angelina, George remembered. Now he was studying Hermione, puzzling over her figure as she levitated products from the cellar storeroom to the sales floor. Fred had seen something in Hermione that attracted him, that interested him. George understood that much.

That clicked into place, and he was able to look back over the last year or so of their school days and see a different side to the one Fred normally presented, starting sometime after the Yule Ball. There were times Fred was more withdrawn or quiet even. He had stopped George teasing their little brother and his friends more than once, and generally declared them off limits to their pranks. Not in so many words, but looking back, George could see how Fred had diverted him. He better understood the cold fury after Hermione had dressed them down in front of the Common Room, threatening to write their mother; it was annoyance and hurt that she wasn't seeing them – him – for what they were really trying to do. George recalled his twin being less protective towards Hermione that year, least until the DA started up.

Not that he'd ever waited round for her. No, Fred enjoyed himself plenty while he teased Hermione and sent her little reminders of him and the magic she had appreciated – the moment she'd finally seen beyond to what they really enjoyed. Fred knew that Angelina wasn't a long-term thing, even if their Mum didn't. He'd tried to explain it once to George, that he liked her well enough, enjoyed shagging her, but knew they didn't fit well together. He'd said something about Angelina not being serious enough, and George had hooted at what he though was a joke. Fred smiled then and changed the subject.

Looking at her now, totally unaware of his watchful eyes seeing her but seeing also his brother, George considered what she had said. It was all well enough, lucid enough, eminently logical. He'd not expressed any interest in her direction before, having never experienced any. He was a right bloody mess now, half of him craving the oblivion of too much firewhiskey even in this moment. Starting a relationship was a terrible idea. But then, the Wildfire Whizbangs hadn't come out of a safe, logical idea, had they?

A random though flitted through his head, a crazed thought, fueled by grief and attraction and confusion and love. Fred had wanted her, but never had her. Maybe, the thought went scurrying across the edges of his consciousness, if he had her instead, Fred would be made happy. Hadn't he imagined that very thing in the depths of his drunkeness? Fred appearing and telling him to get to know Granger? Barely aware of that thought, and never pausing to grasp it with a firm hold or to examine the potential consequences, George walked towards her, knowing only that he wanted to be near her. He stepped over to help her, a strange look on his face, but finding that the hole in his heart that ached constantly was less painful, at least for a beat or two, when she looked up and smiled warmly at him.

_A/N: Just a friendly thanks to those who have read and commented. This is an odd sort of fiction for me, rudderless as it is. I think that often I'm unhappy with the way that George is portrayed as grieving; it strikes me as unrealistic or written by a very lucky person who tries to pay lip service to grief but without having ever experienced a deep and profound grief. For whatever reason, this is begging to be written. There is no posting schedule as I try to maintain with my other story, as this is so much more organic and freestyle. I hope you continue to enjoy this strange little piece. Cheers._


	4. Chapter 4

_Standard disclaimer: These characters and the world they exist in were not created by me and do not belong to me. I am borrowing them for a bit, and make no profit off of my little enterprise._

-o0o-

Chapter 4

-o0o-

They were evil geniuses. Hermione could not remember why she ever looked down on their products or pranks. The creativity and sheer level of skill, and in some cases pure nerve, that had gone into developing their products shocked her. She was astute enough to realize before her offer to help that not just any wizard would be capable of reproducing their stock, even with their instructions before them. But she never really expected to be quite so challenged herself.

Which isn't to say that she thought all that highly of herself, but she knew from her time at Hogwarts that she was really ahead of most of her peers, in knowledge and the ability to make logical leaps and connections to understand how things fitted together and from there how they could be fitted together to produce variant results. In terms of power, she was only average, not like Harry. But the twins . . . she stared in disbelief at the tome before her, larger even than _Hogwarts: A History, _which contained their potion recipes and charms instructions for each of their products that has been tested. The work books for those in testing or the ideas they'd jotted down filled an entire shelf of the storeroom.

George looked at her, a half-smile on his face that occasionally broadened to a smirk, as her eyes grew wider or she shook her head. There was an intense wish for Fred to see this, wondering what his reaction would have been to Hermione's transparent, almost comedic, surprise at how they developed everything. He had little doubt Fred would have laughed himself sick over it. Of course, had Hermione been here for any reason but one that had brought her here, George would have been right there with him. As it was, it was taking much of his energy and control to simply be in sight of the books that Fred had painstakingly put together and lovingly charmed to be protected from all the things that could go wrong in an experimental workshop stocked with dangerous ingredients. If he hadn't promised Fred that he'd continue their dream without him, George'd happily have buried that book in Mum's garden and never thought of it again.

Shaking his head to try and squash those morose thoughts and not give them free reign, lest he have to find a way to drown them (and Hermione disapproved of alcohol, refusing to buy any more to keep in the flat, and he hadn't gone himself as yet), George spoke quietly from behind her, making her jump. "None of it is particularly difficult, Hermione. You'll get the hang of it in no time. If you're not comfortable with it, you can just get started with the base brews. Getting those back in stock makes the rest of it much easier."

"Is there anything that I can especially help with?" Hermione inquired. It was her way of asking whether there was anything Fred had done that she ought to do.

"We were pretty interchangeable," George said, skipping her niceties. "With only two of us, there wasn't really any way to avoid doing some of everything. Fred was always better at charms than I was though. One thing that could be important, though. Can you bake? Or make sweets? I can do them, but we're going to need quite a few, and I can't do it on my own. If I need to outsource, it's fine, but I need to know."

"I've never really tried to make sweets, but yes, I bake quite well. Potions and cooking or baking aren't really so different, you know. You follow the recipe and things generally turn out as they are meant to do. I'd be happy to give it a go," she said honestly.

George's eyes crinkled. "You might think they aren't so different, but you could be very wrong. The first time Fred tried to make fudge was pretty entertaining. Course that was back at Hogwarts, so the mess was easily contained."

Hermione lightly traced her fingers over the page before her, not seeing it. "Of course, you had to have gotten started back then. Where did you go?"

"Kitchens, of course," George said, sounding surprised. "You think we went down there just to nick food? Well, we did that some, but mostly, the elves were teaching us to bake and make sweets."

Hermione's jaw dropped open. "You learned from house elves?"

"Well, yeah. You think Mum was about to let us in her kitchen? We had to do a detention down in the kitchens our second year, made the elves quite jumpy to have us in there. To try and distract them, Fred started asking how they made those fantastic éclairs, and they finally started teaching us to get us to stop scrubbing their pots. Filch wasn't pleased by half when he came to check up on us, let me tell you." George chuckled at the memory.

Hermione smiled. "I guess I was too quick to assume you were just making more work for them. I know I was, um, overly enthusiastic about trying to free them."

George's smile twisted a bit, but his voice was gentle. "Your heart was in the right place. I'm sure they've forgiven you by now."

A moment of silence descended, and Hermione tried hard to hope that her presence and insistence on helping him wasn't as misguided as her subversive attempts to free the house-elves. Her efforts then were not only misguided and devious, but ultimately fruitless; she couldn't have freed the elves with her misshapen knitted goods because she was not their master. Biting her lip, she hoped fervently that she was doing right by George, and Fred, being here and pushing her way into his life as she'd done.

George's eyes were drawn to her lips, where she was worrying at it. They had slept in the same bed the last two nights, without overt incident. They had cuddled together while falling asleep, and she had soothed him when his nightmares woke her, but he had tried to respect her wishes, or what he thought her wishes were. It was bloody hard though, if she were going to tempt him with pouting lips and frowning face. In fact, he'd taken three steps towards her before realizing what he'd done. Hermione seemed not to notice, and he drew a suddenly shaky breath, and cleared his throat.

"Right. Well, if we're going to get started, we should get on with it. The safest thing to start with is brewing bases for the Wonder Witch line. That is a very popular line, and hard to keep in stock, so the sooner we get a jump on, the better."

Hermione eyed the book, and George tapped it with his wand three times, and it opened to the correct page. "How did you do that?"

"Just think about what you want to work on and tap it three times. Easiest way we could think of, since you have to know the password to open the book in the first place. We've got everything we need for the bases. There are four base potions that get used in various finished products. If you can get about ten completed batches of each base, that's what we tried to keep in stock ready to go. So let's aim to get the stock caught up and then we'll really get going."

"What are you going to work on?" Hermione asked, studying the instructions before her.

"Whizbangs. I don't think I'm really comfortable with you working on them just yet, and that's one thing I can do in my sleep. I don't think I've got the concentration for potions right now."

"You're going to build _fireworks_, things that are designed to explode, because you don't think you can concentrate on potions?" Hermione repeated with a squeak.

George laughed and shook his head. "Really, Hermione, it's fine. Like I said, I could do it in my sleep. I've been making fireworks since I was seven years old. Much better than me trying to create Skiving Snackboxes or something. Trust me."

Hermione frowned, but turned back to her instructions, summoning a size three pewter cauldron and starting the flame. George took the other work station, refusing to acknowledge that this was the one Fred typically worked at. Frankly, as alien as it felt, he'd rather work at Fred's station than his own. It felt more right, somehow. His mind wandered without conscious direction, as he worked quickly to start the fireworks. This had been the first thing he and Fred had ever perfected, so it was easy for him to do mechanically. This was something that he and Fred would do late at night, when they were tired or worn out, talking, laughing, drinking too much firewhiskey. And yet, as mechanical as it was, there was the feeling that had dogged him since he had returned to the flat – since Fred had died, if he were honest – that this was not right, not the way it ought to be.

It was an awful feeling; hard to fight against, wearisome to go every day through the motions, to struggle to do things when he felt they were wrong to be doing without Fred. And that didn't even touch on the weight of grief that threatened every moment to spill over and be unleashed. George tried hard to keep his emotions under wrap, because he didn't know what would happen if he were to let them go. He was afraid he would be so broken that he could never be fixed.

It meant his temper was short, and he knew that he was already testing Hermione's patience, with his rapid mood swings. One moment, he'd be cold to her, and the next, practically clinging to her. But mostly, he was grateful to her. Not that he was able to express it, he felt he was doing quite the opposite, but he knew he wouldn't be able to do any of this without her encouragement.

Hermione worked quietly, but confidently. Fred's instructions were clear enough, it was a matter of concentration and precision, both of which she was suited to do. It would take time, but that was something she'd known even before seeing the instructions. She was happy enough to concentrate on potions, because she needed the distraction. Despite her words that afternoon, she was missing the physical interaction she'd had with George. It frustrated her that her mind wandered back over their brief encounters. She'd never mooned over a few kisses before. Of course no one had kissed her quite like George had, and she really wished that he would simply kiss her again. Hermione wasn't sure she was capable of asking him kiss her; she felt terribly shy about it. Having something that occupied both her hands and mind as this did was necessary.

So the morning passed, both of them occupied, both of them seeking a way to escape their thoughts.

-o0o-

George was good as his word; he'd created enough fireworks to begin restocking the Deflagration Deluxe boxes, astonishing Hermione with his production. She felt terribly inadequate, having completed only two batches of one base, but George seemed pleased with her progress. Once the second batch was done, George told her to take a break and come upstairs for lunch. Rolling her shoulders to ease the ache that had formed from constant stirring and standing at the worktable, she agreed she was ready for a break.

"I'll make lunch, if you like," George offered. "Believe it or not, I'm a fair fine cook. Between Mum and Hogwarts, I've learned from the best."

"Sounds lovely," Hermione said, flopping down on the sofa with a groan. "I dunno if I could manage stirring anything right now anyhow."

George pulled out a cutting board and set a knife to slicing vegetables, and glanced over at her appraisingly. "You'll get used to it again. But if you'd like, I'll give you a shoulder rub. I've got some ointment that could help."

"Yeah, all right," Hermione said, almost too casually. "What are you making for lunch then?"

"I thought I'd just do up a salad. You never seem to eat heavy lunches. But if you want something more substantial. . ." George trailed off.

"No, that sounds perfect," Hermione said, sounding tired. It was a short time until George levitated a bowl filled with salad and sliced vegetables and a butterbeer towards Hermione, and as had become their custom, settled down beside her.

They ate quietly, and with evident hunger. George had dressed the salad in some sort of tangy vinaigrette, and Hermione was impressed. Ruefully, she wondered if there would come a point at which she stopped being so impressed or surprised, at which she would stop underestimating him. Apparently, she was tired enough that she didn't realize she'd spoken her thoughts aloud until George turned a surprised look on her, and then laughed when her cheeks flushed red.

"Hermione, I don't know if our relationship would work if you didn't maintain some edge of disbelief. I'm glad you like the salad. Would you like anything else? We got in some of that yoghurt you wanted, though I don't understand why you would eat that nasty shite."

"Maybe later. I'm fine for now," she said, trying not to yawn.

"You're tired. Maybe you should take a nap," George suggested. Studying her, he broached a topic they didn't really discuss. "I kept you up last night, didn't I?"

Hermione shrugged. "It wasn't so bad. I might take you up on a nap though. I feel badly though, since I'm not really making much progress."

George waved off her apology. "Not at all. It'll take a few times before you're really comfortable with the recipe. Once you are, you'll be able to keep more than one thing going at a time, or be more comfortable leaving it for a bit. We're already twenty percent further with one of the bases than we were yesterday."

"How on earth did you manage this the first time?" Hermione asked.

"We did a lot of the development over the summers, and worked on the bits requiring magic at Hogwarts. We really got into it our fourth year, especially when there wasn't much else to do, since we were trapped in the Tower and escorted everywhere. Once we had worked out the basics of what we wanted to sell, and had the financial backing from Harry, we just started stocking. We knew we would be opening up right after seventh year, if not sooner, so we spent a lot of time then working on stock. Even so, we worked practically around the clock from the time we left Hogwarts until mid-summer. Then we were able to breathe a bit. Not much, but a bit. If nothing else, we'd worked out what was optimal to keep in stock, and had worked out a rotation of brewing and creation that left us some free time to invent as well. Not as much as we'd have liked, but of course, we were working with the Order then too."

George spoke almost absently, without the pain that had been in his voice when he spoke about Fred. He seemed to be thinking about something else as he answered her. It was only when she stifled another yawn that he seemed to snap back to the present.

"Here, I'll do the dishes in a bit. Go lay down, I'll get the ointment, and give you a nice rub and then you can take a nap," he offered, standing up, his hand outstretched to help her off the couch. She took it and he hoisted her up and walked her down the hall, hands still clasped together.

"Put your hair up, take off your shirt and lay down on your stomach," George ordered, as he stepped into the loo to search out the ointment he'd mentioned. Hermione did as she was told, yawning, and stretching out on the bed. George returned with a jar the size of his palm, and smiled slightly to himself. "Er, Hermione? It'll work better if you take off your bra as well. But if you're more comfortable -"

"No, it's fine. Nothing you haven't seen before, anyway," she said quickly, and sat up, turning away from him and fumbling with the clasps, cursing the fact that despite putting it on and removing it every day for the last seven years, now she was having trouble. George's hand were quickly on hers, and her chest tightened as he slowly finished unhooking the clasps, and lightly skimmed the straps over her shoulders before clearing his throat and stepping back, allowing her a modicum of privacy as she quickly re-situated herself face-down on the duvet.

The mattress dipped beside her, and there was little warning before a cool, lemon-smelling substance was spread over her shoulders and back. And then, bliss, George was gently but firmly rubbing the liniment into her skin, and the ache in her shoulders and tension in her neck began to dissipate. He didn't really speak, which was fine, because the soporific qualities of the massage, combined with her fatigue, left her in a languid half-sleep, drifting slowly away into a pool of relaxation. After a time, though, something shifted, and Hermione was awake enough to notice a change. George's hands were no longer massaging her, instead they were tracing over her softly.

Suddenly, in place of the lethargy, there was a tension, anticipation. Her eyes still closed, she could feel the tautness in George's body, his breathing had grown more shallow. His fingers trailed over her neck, and she shivered involuntarily, and felt compelled to say something. She didn't want to break this spell, but she couldn't stand to lay there as if she were asleep or unaware.

"George?" she whispered. His hands froze.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I, uh, I'll just leave you be so you can rest."

"Don't stop," she murmured.

"Hermione?" he questioned, his voice husky.

"Please, don't stop," she said again, softly. "Please don't make me ask."

The only response was George pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck, and his hands were moving again, tracing her bones, tantalizing her. More light kisses followed, to her neck, to her shoulder blade, and then she was gently being rolled her onto her back, and her arms wrapped themselves around George, pulling him down to her, finding his mouth for a searing kiss that belied the tender caresses he'd showered her with. When the necessity of breathing separated them, Hermione tugged at George's shirt until he removed it and then her hands roamed hungrily over his chest and shoulders, as if she were trying to memorize the feel of him, and then they were kissing again.

Somehow, they twisted so that Hermione lay atop George, and he took full advantage to sweep his hand up to her breast, and begin teasing her nipple, even as he kissed her neck and licked and sucked hard enough to leave a mark. She was straddling him, and it wasn't long before she was grinding into him. George moved his hands to her jeans, unbuttoning them, and tugging at them. Hermione responded by reaching for George's jeans in return. They fumbled together for a moment, before George started chuckling, and then Hermione began laughing, and they untangled themselves long enough to remove their own jeans and then there was hesitation, and they looked at each other.

"You don't have to ask, Hermione, but you do have to tell me. I won't go any further than you are comfortable with," George said, sincerity clear on his face.

Hermione gave a nervous, breathless sort of laugh. "Honestly, I have no idea what I'm doing. Tell me what to do."

"Tell me if you feel uncomfortable or want to stop," was all George said before skimming off his pants, and reaching towards Hermione to do the same with her knickers, and then before she could do more than blush, he had pulled her close against him and started kissing her enthusiastically. One arm stayed wrapped around her, the other brushed over her back, her arse, her hip and thigh. Hesitantly, Hermione touched George's shoulders, and crept along his back to his narrow waist, before moving softly to his arse. As he broke free of their kiss and kissed along the side of her neck, her hand came forward to touch him. Despite feeling his erection pressed against her, she was still surprised to find him hard to her touch. Too embarrassed to really look at him, she explored him by feel, caressing the length of him, brushing along the top of his penis, causing him to groan into her neck, momentarily rest his forehead on her shoulder.

"Hermione," he whispered. "You feel so good."

"So do you," she whispered back. It was as if speaking at any louder a volume would break this spell they were under and who knew what would happen then? For now, they were oblivious to anything but the nearness of each other and a desire that was overwhelming them.

"Lay back," he murmured. "Trust me." And she did.

He rewarded her, lavishing attention on her body. He was masterful, teasing and inventive, drawing her ever closer to the precipice, but pulling her along slowly so that she could savor the experience. He pulled sounds from her, a sigh, a moan, even a whimper as he glided down her body to lick at her clitoris, fingers slipping inside her, and then a soft cry as she reached her orgasm.

She shuddered for a moment, and he softly kissed her lips, and she could taste herself on his lips, an odd sensation. His voice was rough at her ear as whispered, "Do you want to go ahead?" She bit her lip and flushed, but shook her head. She wasn't ready, though she felt a sudden welling of shame at her hesitancy. Wanting to repay him for what she had just experienced, she kissed him again, and touched him lightly.

"Tell me what do," she said breathlessly. George quietly guided her, and she kissed and licked every inch of his chest, listening to his cues, trying to arouse him as she'd been aroused, lightly stroking the length of his cock, fluttering touches that he found maddening. He let her proceed until he thought he couldn't take it anymore and must have said something aloud, because she instantly wrapped her hand firmly around him, and began moving her hand in a slow steady rhythm. His eyes closed and he was focused solely on the sensation of her hands on him, quietly urging her fledgling efforts. At one point, he opened his eyes to take in the glorious site of her naked body, and his lips quirked at the look of intense concentration on her face.

"Gods, that feels so good, please don't stop," he groaned. But she did stop, for a moment, and then her mouth was on him, tentatively, to be sure, but so warm and wet, and it was all he could do not to thrust into her, and it was not long before she had figured out the best means of eliciting a reaction and then his world narrowed to the point of constriction and then explosion and he'd called out her name as he came. He threw an arm over his eyes, feeling quite content to never move again, and felt Hermione beside him, hovering. George finally opened his eyes, and looked up at her watching him, and reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze.

"I'm just going to use the loo quickly," she said, as if trying to reassure him she wasn't leaving. George took advantage of her absence to clean himself with a quick spell, and then she was back, and he stood to fold her up in his arms.

"Thank you," he whispered thickly into her hair. Her arms snaked free and wrapped around his neck.

"And you," she replied. After a moment, she continued. "I am still tired, George. I think I'd like a nap. If, maybe, you'd stay?" Her voice was hesitant, shy.

He placed a kiss on her forehead. "Of course. Here -" he said, waving his wand and causing the bed to turn down. Hermione slid in first, and George followed. They took a few minutes to get comfortable, spooning together, still naked. "How are your shoulders?" he asked quietly.

"Brilliant. Dunno whether it was your ointment or your hands, but loads better, thanks."

"Hermione, I . . ." George trailed off, uncertain what he was trying to say.

"No, not right now. Please don't," she said, a bit cryptically.

"If you prefer," he said. "I hope . . . I hope you enjoyed it."

"Oh yes," she said, almost sighing. "Immensely. I, uh, hope I wasn't too bad."

George squeezed her tightly for a moment. "Uh, not at all. Bloody amazing, that was."

Hermione yawned before she could respond, and George began smoothing her hair from her face, and crooning a tuneless hum under his breath, and it was little time before she was asleep in his bed.

-o0o-

George dozed next to her, seemingly always tired now. His sleep was patchy, interrupted by nightmares and at times, even worse, visions of his twin brother. Conversations, often over firewhiskey, centered around Hermione, or the family; Fred was still dead, there was never a question about that, but in the dreams, they were still connected, still spoke, were still Fred-and-George. Some subconscious he had, to torture him with dreams that felt so real and tangible. George would even be willing to swear that he woke up with the traces of a hangover after one dream in which he'd split a full barrel of Rosmerta's mead with his dead twin.

So now, with Hermione breathing deeply, and for a moment, peacefully, George fell into that world of waking dreams. This was different from others, Fred looked more serious than usual, as he pulled up an armchair in the cozy little room they always seemed to be in.

"What're you doing, Georgie?" he asked, propping his chin up with his hand, gazing at George almost reproachfully.

"What d'you mean, Freddy?"

"You know bloody well what I mean, you git. With Hermione. You need to be careful, Gred," the dead twin said warningly.

"I am being careful! Gods, she's been right there in my bed, and I've practically been a monk. I know your little secret now, y'know. Hermione told me that she was the one what you sent those charms too. You don't mean to tell me that you'd have kept your hands off her if she were in your bed." If George had had a mirror, he could have seen his face looking half-defiant, half-smug.

"Course I wouldn't have, Georgie, but I fancied her for years. And I knew about her. You don't, not really, not yet. I don't want you clinging on to her, trying to replace me. It isn't fair to her," Fred said.

"Replace you? Makes it sound as if we were shagging, mate, which is frankly disgusting. Besides, no one can replace you. You're Forge." Tears sprang to George's eyes, and the familiar lump reappeared in his throat.

"I know, Gred. I can see how hard you're trying, and I'm so proud of you. But be careful about Hermione. She deserves a lot more than you can give her right now."

"That's not fair, Fred," George said, growing angry.

"You're trying really hard, but you're a wreck. And it's my fault, and I'm sorry," Fred said sincerely. "And I know she seems together, but she's not. She's going to need someone as well, she can't just hold you up while you figure this out."

George looked lost. "Freddy, I need her." Fred shook his head, but before he could respond, George was pulled to wakefulness by a sound he couldn't immediately place in his dream-addled mind. After a moment, he realized it was a keening wail, coming from Hermione. She was restless, her face contorted, clearly in the throes of a nightmare. George sat up, and shook her shoulder, which caused her to jerk violently and moan.

"Hermione, hey. It's George. Wake up Hermione. Wake up, now, come on, you're having a nightmare. Come on, honey, wake up," he said in a quiet litany, as he stroked her arm, tapped her shoulder. With a start, she pulled away, and scrambled towards the edge of the bed, nearly panting.

"Hermione, you were having a nightmare. Are you ok?" George looked very concerned now.

Hermione's heart was racing, she'd dreamt of being back in Malfoy Manor, being tortured by Bellatrix. She tried to control her breathing and brushed her sweat dampened hair out of her eyes with a shaking hand. "Water, please," she croaked, desperate to have a few moments alone to try to compose herself.

George was afraid to leave her, and so he conjured a glass and filled it with the _aguamenti_ charm, and handed it to her. She drank it down quickly, but it didn't stop the shaking, and worse, only drew George's attention to it. It had been weeks since she had a nightmare, and she'd never admitted to anyone that she had had any. Oh, it was to be expected, she supposed. Hermione was bright enough and well read enough to know that that sort of experience doesn't just fade into memory. Bellatrix had _tortured_ her, for Merlin's sake. The weakness that she'd felt then though, completely at the mercy of a woman who had none, that feeling stayed with her. She was ashamed of that feeling, of that weakness. No matter how much she told herself it was not her fault and there was nothing she could have done, there were vestiges of chagrin at her inability to have stopped it from happening.

The nightmares only made it worse, echoing Bellatrix's taunts back at her, forcing her to relive it, and again knowing that there was no way to stop them happening. They simply came when they came, with no warning; until now, she had been able to hide them and ignore them. But George was watching her now, concern and a touch of fear clearly evident. Somehow, she didn't think she was going to be able to hide it much longer.

"You all right?" he asked softly.

She tried to smile. "Yes, of course. Just a bad dream. Sorry I woke you." She vanished the glass, and half-turned from him, unwilling to look him in the eye.

"What was it about?" he asked, and she stiffened visibly.

"I don't really want to talk about it. I'm fine George, really." She half-expected him to get irritated and to push her, or to stalk away from her, angry at being shut out, as Ron or Harry would have done. She didn't expect him to touch her, but he did, pulling her into a quiet embrace. Hermione released a breath, feeling safe again and angry at herself for that. Her eyes filled with angry tears, which she tried to blink back.

"You don't have to tell me. I won't pry. But I'll listen if you want to talk about it," he said finally. Really, he wanted to know. But she hadn't forced his confidence, hadn't insisted that he talk about Fred or not talk about him, she'd simply been there. His dream weighed on his mind, he could still hear Fred telling him to be careful of her, that she needed someone too. He hated that it had been so real that he could still see his dead twin's serious face, and hear the timbre of his voice, particularly since it was only saying aloud those thoughts that flitted through his head.

Hermione had stopped shaking, and for the most part, had gotten her emotions back in control, but there was no way she was going to sleep again anytime soon. For the best, she mused, as she didn't want to get her sleep cycle thrown off too badly. But now, calm as she may outwardly appear, she was rattled and simply wanted occupation and space to give her time to think. Gently, she disengaged herself from George, a twisted half-smile on her face.

"Thanks, George," she said. "I'm so sorry I woke you up. I think I'm going to go back downstairs to start brewing again. I can get at least another two or three batches of that base done, and then maybe the day won't feel like such a waste." Her voice was artificially, forcefully bright, and she had redressed herself quickly and was gone.

Frowning, George dressed as well, and went to take care of the dishes. Clearly something was bothering her, and he wished he knew how to get her to open up to him. Or at least what it was. He didn't think she was bothered by their activities, but then, would she say? Well, it was Hermione, so yes, he rather thought she would. And it might have been arrogant of him, but he doubted very much that she was having nightmares about their intimacy. Perhaps it was just her parents; she didn't talk much about them, but there was no question that she missed them and grieved the loss of all links to her past and her childhood. Though it wasn't as if there weren't plenty of things to cause nightmares in what they had seen. Hermione had been with Harry through nearly everything; he'd heard some of the stories that were shared around him. That bit with old Voldy's pet snake coming out of one of Hermione's textbook author's bodies could be a culprit; gave him the creeps thinking about it. That didn't even touch on their Gringott's escapade or the Battle for Hogwarts itself.

Gods knew what haunted George's dreams from that night. He scowled and directed a sponge to scrub furiously at the counter around the sink, wishing he had better vent for his feelings. Fred, always bloody showing up in his dreams, tormenting him by dying over and over in ever more gruesome and lonely ways, or by showing up as if everything were normal and holding conversations with him. And then today, saying things that made him doubt himself even more. Worse, saying it was his, Fred's, fault. The anger that rose up in him when he thought about that. . . he was almost breathless contemplating it.

How could he be angry at Fred? Wasn't it George's own fault? It had been his genius idea for them to split up, saying they could cover more entrances that way. They never left each other that way, never. And yet, for the first time he acknowledged that he was angry at Fred as well as himself. Angry because Fred told a joke when he ought to have been paying attention, angry with Fred for agreeing to separate, angry with Fred for dying and leaving him behind, angry at him for showing up in his dreams, making George question his sanity. For a moment, he felt hot with anger, desperate to throw something or hit something or hex something and just as suddenly, it deflated and he was holding on to the sink to keep upright. What good did all this anger do? It just ate him up inside, it didn't change anything. Which, of course was all very well to say, but the anger didn't magically vanish simply because his rational mind determined it to be less than helpful.

Sighing, he eyed the kitchen which was now spotless enough even for Hermione's exacting standards and went downstairs to join her. Fireworks no longer suited his mood, but suddenly revenge items sounded good enough. George felt he could manage the charms anyway, and was ready for something which required a modicum of concentration; besides, biting teacups were frequently satisfying to make.

-o0o-

_A/N: Well, this piece is beginning to resolve itself for me, a direction is opening up, and I'm very curious to see how it develops. It's quite unusual for me not to try and frame an outline, so an exercise, it's intriguing, if nothing else. There is no standard posting schedule for this – I write when inspiration strikes. I hope you continue to enjoy as much as I do; thanks to everyone who has left a review!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: While the events contained herein are of my invention, the characters contained herein are not my own creations. I make no profit from this endeavor, save what pleasure I derive from the effort._

-o0o-

Chapter 5

-o0o-

Things took an odd turn in the few days that followed. George and Hermione never really spoke about their growing intimacy or acknowledged it, though they did seem more at ease touching each other as they went about their work for the shop or the business of housekeeping. They fell into a comfortable rhythm, wherein they traded preparing meals and shared household chores. Downstairs, Hermione continued to spend much of her time brewing base potion stock, and George was correct in saying that she'd grow used to it again quickly. They tended to get involved in rather erudite conversations about magic and how it was used in these products while downstairs, and tended to talk about more personal things after meals. And in the bedroom, by some mutually agreed upon silent consent, they continued their exploration of each other. Hermione frequently distracted George after his nightmares, and he interrupted her quiet brooding, and there was something in their kisses and caresses that neither seemed willing to discuss.

Alas, such seclusion was not meant to last forever, and reality came back to them in the form of Harry and Ron bearing another large box of goods from Molly Weasley. Hermione was downstairs in front of a bubbling cauldron of animal transfiguring potions that were used in a variety of sweets. George was out gathering ingredients so that they could begin making the biscuits and sweets they'd need. Given that she wasn't expecting anyone, Hermione was badly startled when she heard Harry and Ron calling for her and clamboring down the stairs. Only the fact that she recognized their voices saved them from a nasty and potentially irreversible hex. Her heart was still pounding when she set her wand down again.

"Harry," she said in a shaky voice, "could you please lower the flame on this and put it into stasis? I'm not sure I could manage it right now."

Looking apologetic, Harry did as he was asked, while Ron studied the work room, and poked his head into the largely empty shop.

"How's it going, then?" he asked, looking serious.

"Slowly," Hermione replied, a bit grimly. "The storeroom wasn't touched, so there is some stock down there, and I'm getting the base potions caught up. George said that rather than make the products as we go, he'd prefer to get the workroom restocked, get me familiar with the bases, and then start the production back up when the stock is ready. Course, he's quite good at it, and already has non-potion based stock built up rather quickly. We're going to start working on sweets and baked goods this afternoon or tomorrow."

"And how is George?" Ron asked, a look of concern on his face.

Hermione shrugged. "It's hard for him. He's handling it pretty well, but it's not uncommon for him to be in the middle of something, and abruptly put it down and walk away for a bit. And of course, he has a hard time in the flat as well. Lots of nightmares, keeps me up a fair amount. He tried to start going through and packing up Fred's things yesterday, but it didn't go well."

Harry nodded at that, a knowing glint of pain in his eyes, but Hermione's thoughts had drifted. To say it had not gone well was misleading; in fact, Hermione was hoping that her hair provided sufficient coverage for the lovebite he'd given her after she had walked in on him curled up around Fred's blanket. They had come perilously close to fully consummating their . . . whatever it was. Only the persistent, nagging thought that she did not want to be a crutch for him stopped her, but it was so easy for her to get swept away by him. And Hermione had acknowledged to herself that if he were using her, she was not only allowing it, but equally using him.

She blinked to clear her mind and respond to Ron's question, but she hadn't really heard him. "Sorry, Ron, I'm knackered. What'd you say?"

He looked at her strangely. "Where are you sleeping? Mum said George told her he'd added a room for you, but I didn't see it." There was a vague air of suspicion in his stance. Despite their romantic relationship being a non-starter, he seemed protective of her.

"On the couch, mostly. Once or twice, we've shared his bed, when he was particularly upset and I was particularly tired. Nothing the three of us haven't done before," she lied with ease. "The plan was to add a room, but we've been working pretty hard, and that takes some concentration and magical energy to do, you know."

"Well, maybe we can help out," Harry said brightly. "Er, you'd have to show us, but we could do something, surely. Can't be too comfortable sleeping on that couch every night."

"Right, I'll let you work that out with George," Hermione said with a tight smile. "I suppose you want me to fix you lunch then? Been awhile since we've really sat down together. You can fill me in on everything that's been happening round the Burrow and Hogwarts. I know I'm in Diagon Alley, but I never hear anything these days."

Hermione double checked the potion to be sure it was safe, and then herded the boys back into the flat, where she began preparing lunch for all four of them, knowing George would be back soon. Ron and Harry talked at length about what was going on in the rebuilding of Hogwarts, what was happening in the Ministry under Kingsley, their hopes that they would be allowed to sit their NEWTs in August, as was being rumored, so they could join the Auror training in the fall. Hermione listened with half an ear, not really caring, but likewise not wanting to say or do anything which might draw attention to herself and her unsettled state of mind. She had put away all of Molly's offerings and was on the point of plating lunch when George reappeared, arms full of bags from a Muggle grocers. He was startled to see their visitors.

"Oh, George, you're back!" Hermione said hastily and with a brightness that didn't normally accompany her words. "The boys brought over another box from your mum, and I've fixed lunch. They've offered to help you expand the flat and set up another room for me, since I've spent so many nights on the couch."

Harry looked at her rather sharply, and a frown crossed George's face, but he set down the groceries and shrugged. "Whatever you like, Hermione. I'm not hungry right now, but you lot go ahead. I'm just going to finish the potion you left in stasis." He ducked back out as quickly as he could, leaving Hermione with a blank smile and a constricted feeling in her chest. She had hoped that she'd conveyed the reality of the situation to him, that she wasn't really asking for her own room, wasn't trying to end their strange arrangement, but she had a feeling it was lost on him.

"Why don't we eat then? Food's ready," Hermione said absently, levitating the food to the table, looking thoughtful.

"Does George normally skip meals?" Ron asked, some concern evident in his voice.

"That's not like a Weasley," Harry added.

"No, not normally, but we don't exactly stick to a schedule. I'll keep his share under a warming charm, and he'll eat when he's hungry, I expect," Hermione said, finding herself picking at her own food, any appetite gone. A pregnant silence fell over the group, a vague uneasiness filling the void of conversation. Ron was the one to break the silence.

"Mum worries a lot about George. What d'you think, Hermione? Is he going to be all right?"

Hermione pushed a chunk of potato around her strew and shrugged. "What does all right mean, Ron? He'll probably never be the same. Fred was your brother too, so you come a lot closer to understanding than I do. It's just that he was more than only George's brother. They were best friends and flatmates and business partners. Every aspect of his life has changed. You lost Fred too, but day to day, it's less painful for you than him. He sees him every time he looks in the mirror."

"He seems like he's doing all right when we see him, but we don't see him much since he moved back," Ron ventured, looking pensive.

"He tries really hard. It's not easy for him though. Will he eventually figure out a way live a normal life without Fred? Yes, I think so," Hermione said slowly. "I don't worry he'll do something drastic. I think he's past that point, anyway. But I worry about him too. I suppose it's one of the reason I wanted to help out. I don't think he could do this himself. At this point, he's only doing it because he loves Fred. I hope that eventually he'll do it because he loves a good joke, and loves to prank people and cause mayhem." She looked sad.

"I thought, right after it happened, that I'd never get over losing Sirius. Others were hard too, Dumbledore especially, and Fred, but Sirius was my family. But it got better. That's the wrong word. I got used to it. George will become accustomed to it, if he has enough time," Harry said thoughtfully. He glanced at Hermione, as if studying her, and then changed the subject "We've missed you a lot this past week you know, Hermione. Do you think you'll come back to the Burrow soon? Maybe stay over a night or two?"

"Oh, I expect so. It's just there is so much work here to do, and it leaves me really tired. George hopes to open up around the first of August, to catch the crowds coming into Diagon Alley for school supplies, assuming Hogwarts reopens on time. Which sounds likely enough from what you've told me today. That doesn't leave a lot of time, and you've seen the shelves. I'm sure that things will calm down some eventually."

"I understand. I just don't know if it's a really good idea for the two of you to shut yourselves away out here by yourselves," Harry said seriously, looking at Hermione closely.

"I know. But we've got potions going at all hours and I think it's a little easier for him to be here than there. It's hard here, but he can be miserable here if he wants to be. Around his family, he feels like he has to be brave." Hermione chewed her lip, wondering how much to say, where the lines of confidence were here in this strange situation. "I'll try and drag him over for dinner soon, yeah?"

"I think Mum would appreciate it," Ron said quietly. For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say something more, but indecision won out and he finally took a bite of stew instead.

"Right, well, I'll see what I can do. I'm not his minder though; it's up to him, really," Hermione finally said. Quiet descended on them once again.

"You know, Hermione, Ron and I have been talking about moving into Grimmauld Place. Fixing it up, like. I mean, the Burrow's nice and all, but if we're accepted into the provisional training program, it'll be easier to be in London, you know?"

Hermione nodded her agreement, and Harry and Ron exchanged glances.

"We were sort of thinking, see, maybe you'd like to come live with us too? I mean, I know you're helping George, but you don't have to live here," Ron said earnestly.

Hermione smiled, the first genuine smile that had crossed her face, but shook her head. "I think you just want a guarantee of someone keeping house for you. No thanks. George at least picks up after himself."

"Hermione! That's not fair! Harry can cook you know, and I know loads of cleaning spells," Ron protested.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I know you know them, but you don't use them, Ron. And I know Harry can cook, but I also know he doesn't like it. Don't you think we had enough fun living together in the tent?"

"Well, it has to beat the couch, Hermione," Harry said, arching his own eyebrow at her, as if daring her to contradict him.

"I'm not saying the couch is excessively comfortable, Harry, but I actually like it here. George and I get surprisingly well." There was a tone in her voice that made it clear she was no longer interested in continuing the conversation, so Harry turned the talk back to Hogwarts and the state of repairs there.

-o0o-

George didn't mind the break to go shopping for supplies. It was tedious, but he knew better where to find the best deals and it was a fairly normal, but anonymous, sort of thing to do. He and Hermione had fallen into a peaceful sort of existence, and he was beginning to feel almost as if he could manage things somehow. To be honest, he attributed much of that to Hermione; he felt comfortable around her. George had agreed to her helping out on a tired whim, but found that he enjoyed having her around. She wasn't Fred, but she was becoming a pretty good partner all the same.

Thus, it had been a shock to have people besides her in his flat, hell, to be reminded that people outside himself, her, and his dead twin's ghost existed. He'd been rattled, seeing Harry and Ron there in the lounge, unprepared, unwarned, unguarded. Quickly as he could, he'd disappeared to regain control of himself, to scold himself for being fearful around such friends as these. Still, he'd grown so used to wearing a mask around other people, to pretending to be normal, and he had not had to do that with Hermione; she'd seen him at his worst already. Suddenly feeling the need to put that mask of coping back on was disconcerting.

And there was another source of unease for him. Hermione had mentioned her own room. They'd never talked about it, not since the day she agreed to move in, and certainly not after they resumed more intimate activities, and he'd assumed it was no longer necessary. She'd never spoken about it again, at least until Harry and Ron showed up. George was annoyed that she'd discuss it with them, never ask him about it again, then inform him his little brother and the bleeding savior of the bleeding world would 'help him out' in expanding his flat to accommodate her. What was she playing at, exactly?

Fantastic. He was angry now. Running a hand through his hair, he wished there was some way to exorcise this ill humor, but he felt mired in it. Much as he liked both Ron and Harry, he didn't want to be around them. The alternative was staying down here and working on potions or stock, which only increased his displeasure, because he had intended to bake much of the afternoon. The only place to do that was upstairs though, and now he was going in circles.

Sighing in defeat, he climbed the stairs. George was willing to admit that running a successful shop meant interacting with customers. If he couldn't interact with his friends and brothers, then it wouldn't work out for him to interact with customers either. Still, his temper was high, and the sight of Hermione smiling and seemingly at ease did nothing ease his vexation. He pasted a smile on his face, but the look she gave him when their eyes met made it clear she could see right through him.

-o0o-

The room was created, and took a surprisingly small amount of time, with George directing Ron and Harry while Hermione cleaned the kitchen and began organizing the ingredients George had brought home. She saw how tensely he held himself, but how much energy was vibrating through his tense frame and realized that he was as angry as she'd feared. She didn't think it was really about her, but she was going to stay out of the way for now. Besides, Hermione felt awkward being around George in front of other people. They'd achieved a measure of ease between them, their undefined relationship aside, but that very lack of definition and clarity made her unsure how to behave in front of someone else, particularly someone like Harry. He'd become too aware and astute for her good, and she was also avoiding being alone with him, lest he ask uncomfortable questions she would be unable to answer.

Still, the room was there, and the effort it took seemed to thaw George out some. Hermione was consulted on color, and was confused by it, but asked for a soothing shade of blue, which George provided. It was a perfectly serviceable bedroom, save for lacking a bed. Hermione bit her lip after pointing it out, but George, who was looking at her with a mix of resignation and pique in his eyes, thought she might have been trying not to laugh.

Harry came up with an easy answer, though. "Since you won't come stay with us in Grimmauld Place, the least I can do is loan you a bed. It's not as if there aren't plenty laying about gathering dust. I'll just ask Kreacher if he minds moving one over, shall I?" Hermione could only shrug her shoulders in acquiescence, while George frowned over this tidbit of information.

Harry and Ron went to see to it, with hugs for Hermione and extracted promises not to work too hard and come home to the Burrow for dinner soon to set Molly's fears to rest. Then Hermione and George were alone, and left with an uncomfortable sort of silence between them.

Hermione stood in the doorway of the new bedroom she'd not really wanted, and when George made a move to push past her said suddenly, "I didn't ask for them to do this, George."

His temper rose quickly, the emotions he'd suppressed coming to the fore. "No, but you certainly volunteered them for it, didn't you?"

"No, you don't understand. They floo'd into the flat and looked for me, and didn't understand why there was no extra room when your mum had said there would be. Ron asked where I was sleeping and when I said the couch, they wanted to know why."

"And what did you tell them?" George asked, his voice caustic.

"I told them we'd both been busy and you'd not had time for it and I was fine on the couch. What was I supposed to tell them, exactly?" Hermione hissed.

"If you wanted your own room, Hermione, you should have told me. I thought you were comfortable sleeping in my bed," George ground out, eyes narrowed.

Hermione threw her hands in the air. "Who said I'm not? I am perfectly comfortable there! I didn't ask for my own room, George! That's what I'm trying to tell you."

"But you were perfectly willing to get it. And what's this about living at Grimmauld Place?"

"Harry and Ron are planning to restore it and move in so they have an easier time with Auror training. They want me to move in with them. I told them no," Hermione said, sounding perplexed. "What are you so angry about, George? I didn't mean to offend you, for Merlin's sake. I just was caught out and didn't know what to say."

"Whatever, Hermione. I've lost enough time today as it is, finishing the potion you started and having to do this little enlargement. I've a large number of biscuits what need to be baked, if you'll excuse me." George's tone was frosty, and Hermione winced as she heard him start slamming cabinet doors and banging tools around in the kitchen in preparation for his baking. Her head had begun throbbing and she was heartily wishing her two best friends were not so damned curious, or that she'd just told them never to mind.

A noise behind her made her jump; it was Kreacher arriving with a full-sized canopied bed from one of the guest rooms. It was a handsome piece of furniture, though the hangings were a bit musty. Kreacher bowed low to Hermione and said in his bullfrog croak, "Miss Hermione, I have delivered the bed Master Harry wished you to have. I have also brought appropriate linen, freshly washed. Does Miss Hermione require any help from Kreacher?"

"No, thank you so much, Kreacher. It was very kind of you," Hermione said politely. Kreacher inclined his head, and disappeared in a crack.

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione resolved to ignore George for the moment and simply concentrate on transfiguring the heavy hangings to something lighter and less musty that she would feel more comfortable with. She hadn't expected to need them, but at this rate, who knew? A few flicks of her wand and suddenly, the heavy brocade was replaced with gauzy white fabric instead. Another flick of her wand and a muttered incantation, and the bed was made up with fresh linen. Concentrating as hard as she could, Hermione conjured a dark wicker basket, and tossed the musty bedclothes in that. Then she allowed herself to sit down on the edge of the bed – surprisingly comfortable – and slump into thought.

Hermione didn't understand George's anger, not really. If she tried, she might be able to rationalize an answer, but she didn't really care to. It wasn't rational; it was disproportionate, and she still wasn't entirely sure it was about her. The peace that had been present had shattered, at least momentarily. George seemed to be simmering, and with a frown, Hermione realized that he'd not really spoken about Fred at all in the last two or three days, despite the anguish he'd clearly experienced when attempting to go through Fred's belongings. Whether he realized it or not, that pressure was probably the driving force behind his anger, and by putting herself in this situation, she was the target.

Understandable, and yet still unpleasant.

The only thing Hermione could think to do was treat him as normally as possible. With a sigh, she walked out into the kitchen and stood quietly for a moment. George was mixing flour into a wet mixture with a force not often seen in dessert making, a scowl on his face. She observed him for a minute and noticed the streak of flour on his cheek.

"Do you have an apron, George?" she finally asked.

His scowl deepened when he looked at her. "I don't need a bloody apron, thanks much."

Hermione remained placid. "Right then, what shall I do?"

"Does this look like a two person job?" he bit out.

"Yes, actually. You were talking yesterday about a full gross of each variety. I think I can help. Just tell me what would be the most helpful thing for you," Hermione said, her voice even.

"Fine," George said, a touch of petulance in his tone. "Start measuring out the dry ingredients for the next batch, then set out the wet ingredients I need." Hermione did as he asked, working quietly and efficiently.

Two batches were completed in relative silence. George was still practically buzzing with anger, but simply being in her presence, quiet and competent was diminishing the heat of it. She worked tranquilly, even anticipating his needs, which nearly set his teeth on edge before he finally caved in.

"Why are you so bloody calm?" he asked in irritation.

"Why are you trying to pick a fight with me?" she returned immediately, deflating him even more.

"What do you mean pick a fight? I thought we were having a row." He frowned her.

"You seem upset. I've explained what happened. If you want to be upset over it, that's up to you. I don't see the sense in continuing to argue over it," she replied coolly.

"That's just . . . it's beside the point!" George said in exasperation, setting down his wooden mixing spoon and putting his hands on his hips.

"I don't see how it is," Hermione said as calmly as she could manage.

"I'm angry! With you!" he said, as if it were the obvious answer.

"So I've noticed. But I don't understand why it means we have to row. I don't feel like fighting with you, George. If you want to continue to be angry over a reasonable set of circumstances, that's your prerogative," she said quietly, feeling a small bit of relief.

George made a noise close to a huff, and turned back to his bowl. Another batch was completed before he spoke to her again.

"Do you really want to sleep in there?" he asked in an aggressive tone.

"I never said that I did, George."

"Then why did you tell them to help me as soon as I came back in?"

"Because I wanted to give you warning that they were aware of the fact I wasn't sleeping in my own room; that was the only way I could see to do it. I didn't know what to tell them," Hermione shrugged.

George was quiet for a moment, thinking this over. "What difference would it make?"

Hermione set down her measuring cup, and leaned against the counter as she answered. "I don't know. I simply didn't want to open the door to awkward questions, I suppose. Somehow, saying I slept with you in your bed didn't seem to explain things well. There would be a lot of questions that I don't think either of us have answers for."

"I suppose that makes sense."

Hermione cocked her head and looked at him, and then pursed her lips. "George, at some point, we'll have to figure out what the bloody hell we are doing."

"I know," he said in a low voice. "I just. . . please don't leave me." He winced to hear the pleading in his voice. He closed his eyes, rather than see pity or rejection on her face, but then felt her arms slide around him. Immediately, George set down the bowl and wrapped his arms around her. They remained in the embrace for a long moment before he pulled away from her some, enough to give him space to lean down and kiss her. He was in total control of that kiss, which was demanding, and eager and swept her along, washing away any reluctance. The kiss ended when the sound of the timer buzzing startled them. George sighed, but removed the biscuits from the oven.

Hermione stopped him when he would have begun spooning the next batch of dough onto the baking sheet. "Don't. You can finish them later," she said.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, an eyebrow arched, seeking confirmation.

"Leave them be. Put a cooling charm over the dough, it'll be fine for now. I'll be in the new bedroom." Hermione turned and left George hastily casting charms.

Her clothes were already half-removed when George stepped inside. "Put up a privacy ward. We've not paid much attention to the fact that any of your family can floo through at anytime." She returned to undressing, until he stopped her.

"Please, let me," he said quietly, and then performed the privacy charm.

George removed his clothes with alacrity, and then turned back to Hermione who was waiting patiently. He kissed her again, another searing kiss, his hands deftly removing the rest of her clothes. Gently, he pushed her backwards to the bed, hands already beginning an exploration of increasingly familiar territory. Hermione seemed to be somewhat impatient, considering the way she was stroking him into a firm erection. In a moment of perversity, he slowed his movements down, making his touches featherlight, never lingering in one place as long as Hermione might have liked. He wanted this to be a sort of apology, tried to express in touches what he wasn't able to say aloud right now.

After a few moments of this, Hermione's eyes fluttered closed, and her hands ceased working him quite so much, and George took advantage to softly kiss her, to gently arouse her. His lips moved as lightly over her as his fingers did; his tongue made wet spirals just under her ear, around her nipples. She sighed as she realized that he had sensitized her skin so that she shivered with pleasure and anticipation with just the lightest touch, and it was with eagerness that she allowed him kiss his way down her body to lick and suck lightly at her clitoris, easing a finger inside her to press at a spot she was unfamiliar with. But oh, bloody fucking hell, it was amazing, and for all his gentle ministrations, her orgasm was powerful enough to take her breath away.

George moved away from her, looking rather smug, giving her a moment to recover, and then kissed her deeply. He felt her hands around him again, but when she broke the kiss, she whispered, "Please don't stop."

He fell still, and inhaled sharply. "Hermione, I don't . . ."

"You said to tell you. I'm telling you. Don't stop, George. Not this time." He frowned a moment, looked searchingly at her, until she took his face in her hands and pulled him in for a kiss that left him almost breathless.

"Right. Er, are you any contraceptive potion?" he thought to ask.

"No, but I'll start one tomorrow, just do a spell and let's get on with it," she breathed. George stood up and dug through his trousers for his wand, and performed a contraceptive spell, before returning to Hermione.

"You sure?" he asked, hesitating.

"Yes, George," she said patiently. "Don't make me ask." Her voice was nearly as pleading as his had been. He nodded and kissed her again.

"It's going to hurt some. Just tell me when you're all right. Don't worry about anything, yeah?" He had a look of concentration on his face that made her bite down a giggle, but then he was touching her again, sliding another finger, then two into her, and then something much larger pressed against her, and she held very, very still as George guided himself slowly into her.

She did hurt some; and she bit her lip at the sharp, almost stinging sensation. It dulled quickly though, and she simply felt oddly filled. It was different from what she had felt when it was just his fingers inside her, but it wasn't unpleasant. Just . . . strange.

"You all right?" he asked, his voice strained. It was an act of supreme will power to remain still inside her and give her a moment to accommodate herself to this experience. Gods, she was lush and tight and hot and wet and he was not going to last very long, because he had not been with a woman like this before and it was incredible and he was more than relieved when she nodded her assent, her nose scrunched up adorably.

George moved as slowly as he could, trying to be gentle, and Hermione was unsure what to do, but as George kissed her again, and moved one hand to her breast, teasing her nipple, she felt herself becoming slightly less stiff, and began undulating a bit with him, unconsciously mimicking his motions. In return, George increased his rhythm and pace and true to his prediction, he did not last terribly long. It wasn't embarrassingly short or anything, not that he expected Hermione would know the difference. Still, Merlin, she felt amazing, the way her arms had wrapped around him, pulling him close as he became more erratic and frantic with his own orgasm nearing . . . bloody marvelous, really.

He shuddered against her, and she held him close to her, feeling his heart beating wildly, feeling an odd sort of satisfaction. Sex was, mmmmm, different than what Hermione had anticipated, but she thought she liked it. Certainly, she was more than willing to try it again, at any rate. After a moment, George moved, sliding out of her body, leaving her feeling a bit sticky. Hermione didn't have time to notice though, because he claimed her for a long, languid kiss that made her smile when it ended. George lay on his side, close to her, and wrapped his long arm around her.

"Thank you," he finally said in a quiet voice.

Hermione nearly laughed. "It was my pleasure."

"You're all right? I know it's not always comfortable at first, but it does get better." George looked sort of concerned.

"I'm perfectly fine, really. No need to worry about me," she scolded lightly. "How're you?"

George half-smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Me? Dandy. That was pretty amazing, Hermione."

"I enjoyed it," she said.

"Good. That is supposed to be the point, after all." Hermione chuckled, and snuggled into him for a moment. "So this is what you had in mind for this bedroom? Seducing poor, unsuspecting, innocent me?"

"Yes, that's precisely what I had planned, George. How'd you figure out my nefarious plot?" Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. George just chuckled in his turn. They fell quiet for a bit. George began tracing a random pattern with his index finger over Hermione's arm and shoulder.

"You know, Fred was always the one who was really good with girls. It may be hard to believe, but I was sort of shy. It was easier for me to play a prank on someone than talk to them. Fred had more confidence, I suppose. Early on, he'd pretend to be me and ask girls out for me, and I'd show up for the date. Almost no one could tell us apart, right?" George looked a little embarrassed, but smiled at the memory, and Hermione didn't bother to hide her laughter.

"That's really awful, you know."

"Yeah. Course, Fred stopped once he started dating Angelina, because she learned to tell us apart pretty quickly after giving me the surprise snog of my life. She was furious when she thought we were playing her around, even though she grabbed me and dragged me into that broom closet and attacked me without so much as a by-your-leave," George said, and Hermione couldn't seem to stop giggling. "Fred didn't want to take the chance on her spotting him chatting up another girl. That witch could be downright scary when she was angry."

"Fred was quite a character. I wonder why he kept sending me those Daydream Charms while he was still dating her," she said in a pensive sort of voice.

"Because he fancied you, Hermione. He'd have loved to be in this position with you," George said, smiling, brushing a curl tenderly behind her ear. "Sometimes I wish he was. I mean, obviously, I wish he was here. But sometimes, I wish that if it had to be one of us, it had been me." He was more somber now, but not melancholy.

"Why?" she asked quietly.

George shrugged. "He was always better at this than me. I don't mean sex, I mean, I dunno, _living_. He wouldn't have such a hard time. He wouldn't need you to keep him going."

"I don't know that you need me either. But I'm here for you," Hermione said, cupping his face in her hand briefly. "And Fred would be just as lost without you, George. Don't think otherwise for a moment. He loved you just as much as you love him." Her own nose was prickling with the pressure of tears that wanted to fall, so she wasn't surprised to see his hazel eyes blink back wetness.

"It's my fault, you know. I'm the one who suggested we split up. Said we'd cover more ground that way. We'd never split up before, ever. If I'd stuck with him, it would have been different."

"Maybe, but you can't know that, George," she said quietly, wiping away the tear that slipped down his face.

"We wouldn't have been in that corridor, or I'd have seen the wall collapsing or something. I should have been with him," he said, the bitter reproach clear.

"Maybe. Or maybe he'd have been killed in a duel, or you would have, or Percy would've died, or Harry or Ron. You can't play that game, blaming yourself. It might have all turned out differently, but it didn't," she said softly. "It isn't your fault. Never your fault. Fred was fine with splitting up, yeah? It was the right tactic, because no one knew the school better than the pair of you."

"It's not so simple, Hermione," he said sadly, without anger.

"No, of course not. But you'll understand it eventually, when you work it out for yourself. It wasn't your fault. And Fred would not have been any better at this life after than you. It simply is. It's wildly unfair and wrong and painful and awful, but it doesn't change."

"It still hurts," he said. "Every day, it hurts just as much as the day before."

"I don't think the pain goes away. I think you just learn to live with it. Or maybe not, I don't know. I wish I did, George. I wish I knew what to tell you, what would help, but I don't," Hermione sighed.

They were quiet, solemn. George pulled her closer to him, and sighed. "I'm sorry I was such a git earlier. I wasn't angry at you, really. Only, sometimes I get angry for no good reason. I can't seem to control it. It just . . . happens."

"You're angry because he's not here, and you want him to be," she said wisely.

George sighed again. "Probably. Still, it's not your fault he's gone, I shouldn't take it out on you."

Hermione shook her head. "It's all right, George. Really."

"It's not. I know that," he said stubbornly.

Hermione chuckled. "Ok, right. It's not right. But you do make it up to me in such interesting ways, George."

He shook his head, but he also smiled, and Hermione was content.

-o0o-

_A/N: Wow. You've no idea the trouble this chapter gave me. It went through three rewrites and in the end, the characters were simply uncooperative with where my conscious mind thought they ought to be going. But I suppose in the end, we worked something that I am actually quite happy with. I hope you enjoy it. No idea what the posting schedule will be, but the plot is more or less in place now, waiting to be written. _


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, but I so love to play with them. I do this for sheer pleasure, and receive no recompense for my efforts._

-o0o-

Chapter 6

-o0o-

Had this been a romance novel, Hermione later reflected, the time immediately after that first afternoon they shagged would have been filled with shy glances, lingering touches, and faltering expressions of fledgling love. George would have begun putting Fred's death behind him, and they would have realized they were made to support each other through all of life's trying times.

It was not a romance novel though, and Hermione would have been terribly disappointed by the reality of what occurred after their afternoon of sex and openness, had she expected romance. Fortunately, she did not; things were perhaps more affectionate, and certainly more smoldering, at least when they were alone in a bedroom, but the central situation had not been changed in any way. George continued to struggle every day, though they both found some days easier to bear than others. His moods remained unpredictable, though he seemed to try and regulate the bad tempers around her, avoided lashing out at her.

They maintained a sort of unofficial, largely peaceful routine over the next week; until this particular early morning, anyhow. The evening before had been a good night for them; a productive day of work, a nice dinner jointly prepared, and a good shag. It was immensely satisfying, and they both felt, well, contented maybe. They lay naked together in bed, and talked as comfortably as they had the first night Hermione stayed. Something about sex seemed to free George, to make it easier to talk about Fred. As they lay together, he would touch Hermione, hold her hand, trace her fingers, draw an invisible pattern on her arm or shoulder or neck, and he would talk.

They weren't usually words of consequence, mostly just stories of their pasts, things that showed Hermione a side of Fred that she wished she'd known. She wondered if she could have loved him, and sometimes wondered for the briefest flash if she could love George, for Hermione saw him differently than she ever had before as well. She never wondered if she did love him, because to approach that question was to approach something that Hermione had firmly blocked from her mind. George never seemed to make any move or give any sign that he was bothered by such questions. He treated Hermione with kindness, and lately with affection she'd never known before, but as much as he shared with her, there was always a barrier, something that was kept in check from her. She suspected it was that which had brought them together, and quickly dismissed the thoughts, because thinking through whatever was happening was only going to remind her that a relationship formed now had little chance of success.

Last night, George had grasped her hand in his, and lightly grazed her fingers with his fingertips, held it, seemed to try to memorize it. Though they'd now shagged several times, there was a greater intimacy in the way he touched her now, and a look in his eyes that made her turn away to avoid it. George paid no mind, simply started speaking, telling Hermione about his Sorting, about his fears on the train ride to Hogwarts for the first time, how he worried he and Fred would be separated. He laughed now, but the pain was evident in his voice.

"Maybe if we'd been separated back then, it would be easier now, I dunno. Do you think the Sorting Hat knew that? The Hat wanted to put me in Hufflepuff at first, even mentioned Slytherin as a good choice for me because of how clever and ambitious I was. Do you think the Hat knew Fred was going to die?" he asked, sadly.

"No," Hermione said slowly, consideringly. "Well, yes, in that we all die, eventually. Do I think the Hat knew that Fred was to die so young in the final battle against Voldemort? No, the Hat isn't a divination tool. Do I think it would have been easier now? I don't know. Even if you and Fred had been in different houses, you were still twins, and brothers."

"That's true, but maybe going through some loss then would have made it a little easier to bear now, more like losing Bill or Charlie or Ron, and not Fred. But I had to beg to be in Gryffindor. Maybe the Hat was right. Gryffindor's about bravery, and I'm anything but," he sighed.

"You know, the Hat wanted to put me in Ravenclaw," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I asked it to place me in Gryffindor instead, because I wanted to be in the same house Dumbledore had been in. And you know the Hat wanted to place Harry in Slytherin. I think, really, that the Sorting isn't so much about examining our attributes as much as our qualities and deficiencies, about making us look at ourselves and ask what it is we want to be."

"What d'you mean?" George asked, rolling onto his side to look intently at her.

"Well, Neville Longbottom could hardly be described as brave as a first year, could he? It's something he grew into. I never really thought I was brave, and most of the time I still don't. But I've realized bravery takes many forms. It's hard to picture you and Fred as anything but Gryffindors, but you could have been anything. You're utterly brilliant; look at your inventions. You're quite crafty and your ambitions have netted you more success than any of your more scholarly brothers. There is no question but that you are loyal and hardworking. But the way you approach life is what makes you brave, I think."

"You think I'm brave? I think I'm a coward," George admitted softly. Before she could ask why, he continued. "I mean, I practically ran away from home because I hated to upset them and seeing me upsets them because they see him too. And I haven't gone back for more than half an hour or so, and I haven't gone out or done anything Fred and I used to do because I'm terrified I'll lose it. And if I lose it, then I'm afraid I'll go round the bend."

Hermione touched his face gently. "But George, you held it together through the funeral. You are back here living in your flat, and working to reopen your store. It may not feel like it, but you are getting on with your life. That takes so much courage I wonder how you manage some days. I've never been back to my parents house, you know. It may not even be there, I don't know. The point is that I've been afraid of the pain I'd feel going back there, so even though it's got whatever is left of my childhood and my history, I've avoided it like a coward."

"But you get through things. I don't," George said in a low voice.

"That's not true, George. At all. You just don't see it all. I've never really been much for allowing my emotions free reign. I mean, it's happened, of course. I know I've got rather a temper, but generally, I just try to get on with it. But it doesn't mean I don't feel it, I just don't show it to everyone. I suppose that's why everyone thinks I'm fine with everything," she said bitterly.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. You've been here doing everything for me, and I keep forgetting that you are dealing with things as well. What a thick arse I am. Might as well call me Ron," he said with a grimace.

Hermione smiled, a bit grimly. "Rather not, thanks. That would make what is happening here terribly uncomfortable."

"Sure. But seriously, Hermione, tell me. It's not just me what keeps you up nights. I know you've had a few nightmares yourself. What is it you see?"

"George, I'm not sure I really want to talk about it," she said with a frown.

"If that's what you prefer, Hermione," he said, a little coldly.

"I just . . . it's not that I don't trust you, George, it's just -" she began uncertainly.

"No, it's fine, Hermione. Really. It's pretty late as it is, and I'm expecting that delivery from Jiggers, so maybe we should go to sleep," George said. His words were clipped though, and Hermione had no doubt he was angry, but he rolled over to his back, and dimmed the light in the room before she could say anything.

Hermione sighed. "Goodnight, George."

He didn't respond.

-o0o-

Neither Hermione nor George slept well, and given the way the night ended, it was perhaps unsurprising that Hermione had a nightmare. She's had three or four since she arrived, but George asking her about them returned the images to her mind just before sleep. This was no simple replay of Malfoy Manor; it was much worse.

The dream started with Hermione in her old home, trying to _obliviate_ her parents, but it never seemed to be working. There was a huge fight about her use of magic, and her parents screamed at her that she had turned her back on them if she was going to attack them while they were defenseless against whatever she chose to do. No matter her explanations or her reasons, the gulf between them was too wide. Magic was far too complicated and complex for them to understand; the strange, fascinating world they'd seen when Hermione was eleven was nothing like reality, but they didn't understand it, couldn't understand it. Eventually, her father, his eyes cold, told her that she was no longer their daughter and no longer welcome in their home.

Choking with tears, Hermione found herself wandering through the Forest of the Dean, chilled to the bone, hungry, and then she was running from Snatchers, yelling for Harry or Ron to help her, but they simply pretended they didn't see her, sneering when the Snatchers captured her before disappearing under the invisibility cloak and disapparating away.

Hermione was again in Malfoy Manor, and Bellatrix had just used the Cruciatus Curse on her, and she felt as if a thousand knives were piercing her body again and again. Hermione was whimpering by this point, waking George, though she was unaware of it. Suddenly, Bellatrix laughed cruelly, and with a snap of her fingers, her parents appeared. Hermione was placed in a body bind, forced to watch as Bellatrix tortured her parents again and again, actually carving 'Filthy Muggle' into her mother's body with a slicing curse as Hermione screamed and screamed.

"Gods, Hermione, _wake up!_" George shouted, squeezing her shoulders, and she was gasping and panting and crying. "Oi, come on, just a nightmare, it's all right, you're all right."

"Oh gods, oh gods, she had them too," Hermione moaned. She was shaking and crying. George, his earlier anger forgotten, pulled her into his arms and rocked her, making soothing noises under his breath while she sobbed helplessly. "George. . ."

"I know, but it's all right, love, I'm here. Just a dream. Not real," he said. There was quiet as Hermione's sob were reduced to sniffles, as George wrapped her securely against him, smoothed her hair back from her face with his free hand. "I'm sorry for earlier. You've never forced me to talk to you. But I'd like to know what is bothering you so. You don't have to tell me."

Hermione was quiet for a long time, before she shifted. He loosened his hold to let her move; she flipped to her side so that she was facing away from him. "It was my parents. They were shouting at me because I used magic on them; they didn't understand. Said I wasn't their daughter any longer," she spoke a quiet voice, near a whisper, quickly, as if trying to force it out before her mind caught up with her. "Then I was wandering around on the Horcrux hunt, and we came up to the Snatchers and they took me, while Harry and Ron watched and then they just left me there with them."

She took a deep breath, and George could feel her shaking again, so he carefully, gently wrapped his arm about her, letting her know that he was there. "We were at Malfoy Manor again." Abruptly she stopped, and George felt a chill sweep over him as he took in her words.

"Again? You were taken to Malfoy Manor during the hunt?"

Jerkily, Hermione nodded. "That's where Dobby came to save us after the Snatchers got us. Bill and Fleur knew, of course, but we didn't talk much about what happened, not to them or to anyone else. If your mum had found out, she'd have tried to stop us going out again, and Voldemort couldn't be defeated until the horcruxes were destroyed . . . and then, it didn't matter so much any longer because the war was over and Fred was dead, and what difference did it make? It was all in the past now."

"Tell me," he said, his voice soft, a raw note of pain in it. "Please, tell me."

"Bellatrix Lestrange tortured me for information. We had the Sword of Gryffindor, which was supposed to he in her vault at Gringott's. Griphook told her the sword we had was a fake, but she tortured me first. She was going to let Fenrir Greyback bite me."

"And you still dream about it? Oh, Hermione."

"Not often, really. More here than before. Maybe it's just that I think about it more here than I did just after at the Burrow. Tonight I dreamed that she had my parents. She tortured me and then m-made me watch her torture them," Hermione's voice was choked with tears, and she started sobbing again. "Sh-she carved 'Filthy Muggle' into my m-mum while I watched."

"Shite, Hermione. Why didn't you say something? Merlin." George sighed. "I've been whinging on and you've been having Bellatrix torture you in your sleep?"

Hermione wiped her eyes and sat up, causing George to sit up too. The sheets fell about them, but neither seemed to notice their lack of attire. Hermione gave a half shrug in the dim light.

"I don't talk about it. Not even to Ron and Harry. It's not just you, George. You're the only person who knows I have nightmares about it. I usually put silencing charms around me. And you aren't whinging on, George. A few minutes under _Crucio_ isn't anything like what you are going through. I wouldn't begin to compare it. I survived Malfoy Manor, my parents are alive and happy without me, and you've lost your twin brother and flatmate and business partner and best friend." Her voice was filled with self-recrimination.

"But it doesn't give me the right to ignore that other people are hurt and damaged too," George said quietly. "I know that well enough. He even warned me about it. I ought to've listened."

"Who told you what? Did Harry say something about me?" she asked sharply, finally looking at him, half-defiant, half-scared.

"What? Harry? No, Fred did. I mean to say, it's just. . . This will sound so stupid, Hermione. I dream about him sometimes. Well, of course, I dream about him often. My nightmares, of course. You know about them. I see him dying over and over, in ways I know he didn't die, and I can't ever stop it from happening. And I dream about our Order missions and Potterwatch, and the times we just scraped through by our teeth and laughed about it because we were too scared to do aught else. But now and then, I dream of him."

George paused for a moment, feeling heat in his ears and neck, grateful that the dim light probably hid the telling redness. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair, grown long to cover the hole in his head, before speaking again, quietly. "We meet in a, well I don't actually know where, sort of like a pub. Always the same chairs together near a fire. We drink and talk, just like when he were alive, yeah? There's never any question about it, he'd dead all right, but he's still real, yeah? And we talk. About everything. It's all right for a bit."

Hermione raised her eyebrows a bit. "And he warned you about me?"

"Yeah, sort of like. He said I needed to be careful of you, that you would need someone to lean on too. Fred always did take special care of you, though you probably never knew it."

Hermione hesitated a bit, biting her lip, unsure what to say. "Do you think. . . I mean . . ."

"Is it just a dream, do you mean, Hermione? Do I think my dead twin visits my dreams? Hell, I don't know. I try not to think about it."

"Why not?" Hermione asked in a whisper.

"Because if it's real, then I don't want to wake up. And that scares me. And it would scare Fred too, he'd be right pissed if he thought I would consider doing myself in 'cause I missed him. And what if it's real and I say it isn't and he stops coming? And if it's not real, what difference does any of it make? Then it's just me telling myself things in Fred's voice, yeah?"

"Right. I see that. Do they bring you any comfort?" she asked softly.

"Sometimes, yeah. A lot of the time. It hurts less to think he's all right somewhere. Then it's just me who's broken, you know?" Hermione nodded. "But see, I've done it again, turned it all back round to me and Fred, when we were talking about you."

"What's to talk about?" Hermione was stiffening up.

"Oi, don't poker up. Please. I just want you to be okay, yeah?"

"I'm fine, George, clearly. A lot of people were tortured. I made it through, I've got no reason to go on about it."

"Hermione, you're having nightmares that are apparently getting worse. You were tortured, for Merlin's sake! That's not nothing, Hermione! You start shaking when you think about it, did you realize that?" George was incredulous.

"Others had it worse," Hermione insisted stubbornly.

"So what? Because someone had it worse than you, you aren't allowed to feel anything over it? Never once have you suggested to me that because I only lost one brother, I shouldn't feel so bad as someone who lost more than a sibling." Disbelief was evident on George's face, even in the dim light.

"Well, that's ridiculous, George, of course not."

"And it's ridiculous for you to ignore the effects of what you went through, because it did affect you," George said reasonably.

"George, I don't want to talk about it. All right?" she snapped at him. Suddenly she was angry. Angry that she'd had such an awful nightmare, angry at how impotent it made her feel, angry at the hideousness and insidiousness of her subconscious to throw those images at her, to replay her guilt over how she manipulated her parents and twist it into her experiences at Malfoy Manor. Angry that George knew about her weakness, that he pitied her for it. Angry that he didn't see how weak it made her to be so affected by the experience, to have gone through the experience in the first place, to have been unable to keep them safe, to better plan, to be so vulnerable to circumstances and end up in the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. Angry at him for pressing and pushing when she'd done her best to meet his needs, however changing and disparate they seemed to be.

George blinked at her, feeling the anger radiating off her, and stiffened up himself. He was trying to help her, for Merlin's sake, trying to be her friend, and she was having no part of it. Well excuse him for his kindness, for trying show some gratitude for how she'd helped him! "Fine," he gritted back. "You should probably take some dreamless sleep potion. There's some in the loo in a purple bottle."

"You never take it," she accused, eyes flashing at him.

"Because it's highly addictive, as you well know, Hermione. I know I was pissed out of my gourd when you arrived here, but despite that, I have worked really hard to avoid dangerous addictive substances which might kill me. You've spent every night in my bed, I think you know it wouldn't help me unless I took it too often." George's voice was growing louder and more heated.

"Oh, but I'm not as strong as you, oh no. So I should drink it right down, then?" Hermione spat at him, completely caught up in her tired, shaken, angry state.

George swung his legs over the side of the bed. "I was trying to help, Hermione. Forgive me for trying to be your damned friend." He began grabbing clothes and putting them on hurriedly.

"What are you doing?" she practically screeched.

"Going out for a walk," he said shortly.

"It's nearly two in the morning, don't be ridiculous," she scoffed.

"I don't give a shite what time it is. Take some fucking potion or don't, I don't care. I'm going out." With that, George grabbed his wand and turned on the spot, disappearing with a pop, leaving Hermione staring at the spot, anger and remorse battling within her.

-o0o-

George hadn't been so worked up or angry since the night he had had a fight with Fred over Fred taking what George considered unnecessary risks during their Order missions. It had led to a huge row, fueled by firewhiskey. The twins didn't fight with each other often, but when they did, it was an epic battle. They'd shouted themselves hoarse, accusations and recriminations flying, and George was still sore and angry when they'd called an end to it, having reached a stalemate. Fred had slammed their bedroom door, and stomped around, changing his clothes and finally flooing to Angelina's without speaking to his brother. George, not wanting to be alone, had decided on a walk; to clear his head, to cool his anger, and to seek company.

As he had done that last time, his steps took him down the Alley to the Leaky Cauldron. It was closed on the Muggle side, appearing to be shut up, but still open to wizards. Tom had already retired, turning over duties to a young witch that George didn't know. There were not many people about, which suited George just fine. He was in an angry temper, and had little desire for company as it was. He ordered a Muggle whiskey, less powerful than firewhiskey. George was conscious of the fact that getting pissed wasn't likely to help the situation, but he wanted something stronger than butterbeer.

He sipped it slowly, replaying the night, wondering whether or not he'd been wrong, had pushed too much. Hermione had been clear that she didn't care to talk about the torture, or even her parents, really. George knew that she grieved over them, but it was true that it seemed to be mostly in private. She had told him about Malfoy Manor and her dreams, despite her discomfort. Perhaps he had pushed her too hard after that, insisting that she should feel a certain way. She'd never done that to him, as such.

George didn't think he was wrong, he'd only been trying to help. Maybe he'd been clumsy, but then Hermione wasn't perfect either. She'd annoyed him, and occasionally hounded him, and hit sensitive points relating to his brother. George wiped a hand over his face, and signaled the witch tending bar for another. He was cooling down now, not much closer to understanding why she had reacted as she had, but perhaps closer to accepting it.

His whiskey arrived, and George stared at the amber liquid, swirling it around, brow furrowed as he thought. So deep was he in thought that he didn't register the voice behind him for a few moments, and when he did, he turned in surprise.

"George?"

"Angelina?"

-o0o-

Hermione gaped at the spot where George had been for a few moments, before snapping her jaw shut and fighting the pressure building behind her nose. She was angry, so angry, but she was also sad that he had left. A tension she carried but didn't acknowledge often seemed to dissipate in talking to him about what had happened. Regret for snapping at him, for her mocking words filled her, and a tear slipped down her cheek. She would apologize instantly if she could, answer any question he had, if she had any idea where he was.

There was nothing for her to do but wait for George to return, and to apologize. She knew he would understand, or hope he would, anyway. It was still difficult for her to accept or admit that she was weak, that she couldn't control everything or know everything, that she didn't have an answer for every question. Being tortured because of her parentage, because of her very existence, being hated simply because she was born had shaken her to the core. Hermione hated it, because she'd grown up at Hogwarts amidst blood prejudice, and felt it should not affect her so. This made it difficult for her to open up about what had happened, so deeply conflicted were her feelings. Easier to ignore it, pretend it did not happen. But she had told George, and wished she could explain the rest. She knew she could not resent him for not understanding when she did not give him enough to make him understand.

The anger that burned in her flamed out, and she realized she was still naked, and cold. Without knowing where George was, or when he'd return, she was uncomfortable returning to bed. She was too awake, too aware of the quiet of the flat to sleep at this point. There was nothing to clean, little to do. She knew she would be unable to bend her mind to reading, so she decided to shower. It would at least occupy her for some time. Maybe, when she was out, George would have returned, and she could apologize, maybe even attempt to untangle some of it for his elucidation.

Assuming he returned, and still wanted her about. Hermione shivered, and another tear escaped at the thought that George might not want her after their fight. She did not think that he would throw her out, but she was beginning to see that she was becoming as dependent on George's presence in her life as she feared he would become.

The hot water poured over her, and she simply stood there, and allowed it to flow. She made no move to do anything, no thinking, just feeling. Alone in the water, knowing she could not be seen or heard, she let loose, and cried. When she emerged from the shower, her eyes were red, but she felt much lighter. At least until she realized that George had not returned. At a loss, and unwilling to sleep in either room until she spoke with George, Hermione wrapped herself up in a blanket and curled into an unhappy ball on the couch.

-o0o-

George could barely breathe with the way that Angelina flung her arms around him. He was surprised by the force of her embrace, and the fact that she kissed him on the cheek. She'd never been physically demonstrative with him before, not after that mistaken snog. In fact, friendly as they'd been, George and Angelina tended to keep their distance from each other. Fred had once told him that Angelina was a bit jealous of how close the twin brothers were, and how she grew quite angry at the thought that Fred and George had no secrets. Thinking more closely, it was no doubt one of the reasons Fred was never serious about her. Knowing that Fred wasn't serious made George feel awkward when she was about. He treated her kindly, like the friend she was, but always made a quick escape. He never felt that Angelina treated the relationship as casually as Fred did, and was never interested in being around when that came out. As he'd told Hermione, Angelina could be a downright scary witch.

"George, gods, it's so good to see you. I haven't seen you since the . . . er, when Fred was. . ." Angelina was stumbling over her words, and her eyes had filled alarmingly with tears.

"Right, since the funeral. I've been pretty busy, working at the shop. It was fairly well trashed, so getting restocked is a priority, and it's slow going." George shrugged. Angelina made herself comfortable next to him, closer to him than he was quite comfortable with. It was evident that he wasn't going to be allowed to enjoy the remainder of his drink in peace. "So. How're you?"

She sniffled a bit, wiping at her eyes. "Oh, you know. It's been pretty hard. I miss him so much, George. It just hurts, you know?"

It was not an answer he was expecting. A flare of resentment flashed through him; she and Fred had had rather a long history, but they had been in an off period when Fred died, and George knew that Fred wasn't really interested in her, not for a long term relationship. He didn't know how clear he had made that to Angelina, but it was clear enough that they weren't in a steady relationship. What right did she have to act this way over Fred, when he was holding it together? Fred was his twin, and she hadn't even asked George about himself, let alone come to see him or the family to express her condolences or mourn with them.

"Well, I just try to get through. It's so hard knowing he's not going to floo over with no warning. I visited his grave the last week, and I thought I was just going to collapse. I cried and cried," Angelina sighed, her lips quivering, eyes dewey with tears as she looked at George. There was something in her eyes that he didn't like, but he thought that Fred had cared for her, even if it wasn't a pure life-long love, and she had been a friend and teammate for a long time, and it was probable that in this place at this hour she'd had a fair bit of drink, so he reached to pat her hand awkwardly. She captured it in hers and squeezed it tightly, making it impossible to remove.

"Yeah, it's hard to do. So, er, what've you been up to then?" he finally asked.

"I've helped out at Hogwarts, of course, and tryouts for the British League teams is coming up in a couple of weeks. I had a good time in the amateur leagues the last two years, but I think it's time to go for broke. Of course, it's going to be hard without Fred cheering me on. Maybe you could come to the tryouts instead?"

"I'll see how things are going, you never know. Maybe Lee's free. Might be a good chance for everyone to catch up," he said without conviction. Angelina still clung to his hand. "So what're you doing here this late?"

"I should ask you that as well. I dunno. Alicia went out tonight with Wood, and they were going at it without a silencing charm when I got back home, and it just made me feel so unsettled and lonely. Came here for a drink, feel a little less alone. I'm glad though, since I've got to see you," she said, smiling at him sadly.

"Right. I, uh, have to be getting back. Left things simmering in the workroom, you know." George was suddenly eager to be back in Hermione's far less complicated and far more reassuring presence, their row notwithstanding. Angelina looked at him in a way that made him uncomfortable. He was probably being uncharitable, she probably did sorely miss his brother; after all, they had dated for a very long time. But uncharitable or not, he didn't feel in the position to be comforting his brother's on-and-off-again ex-girlfriend, not when he himself still ached as if part of his very soul had been cut away.

At his words, she finally released his hand, and looked at him with some surprise, as if seeing him more clearly for the first time, as if she were disappointed by it. "Oh, of course. Maybe I'll see you around?"

The idea that George could hear Fred scolding him, the memories of Fred, George, Angelina and the other members of the Quidditch team flooded him, and he smiled a small, but genuine, smile at her and said agreeably. "Yeah, sure. Just, er, send me an owl or something. We'll get some lunch, yeah?"

Her whole face brightened, and George tossed down the rest of his drink, and left a few galleons on the bar and left. The summer night was still pleasant, and this time of morning, it was dark and peaceful. For a few minutes, George stopped and stood there. He felt tired, tipsy, and lonely, longing to be back in his bed, curled around Hermione, her wild, thick curls tickling his chin. That was a peacefulness away from the heavy weight of pain he carried with him everywhere. George knew he shouldn't have left, that he should simply have respected her desire for privacy; all he could do now is return and apologize, and hope she would not decide that Grimmauld Place would be a better and more private place to stay.

-o0o-

The door opened, as George opted to enter quietly, in case Hermione had fallen asleep. But there she was, huddled miserably on the sofa, waiting for him. Her eyes were rimmed in red, from tears or fatigue, he didn't know. She looked up at him, sorrow and apology written on her face.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," she replied morosely. She fidgeted with the blanket, before saying quietly, "I am sorry. So, so sorry, George. I didn't mean to snap at you. I didn't -" George sat down beside her, cutting her off by placing a finger on her lips.

"I'm sorry. I don't understand, not exactly, but I don't need to. You don't want to talk about something, that's enough for me. I'm sorry I pushed you. It wasn't fair of me. You never do that to me."

"Where did you go?" she asked after a moment.

"Down to the Leaky. Had a drink or two. Cooled off, realized I was being an arse. Forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive. But I was awful to you, when you were just being kind, and -" Again, he cut her off.

"No apologies, Hermione. Come on, let's go back to bed. We could both use the rest, I think." He stood up, and helped Hermione up from the sofa. Hand in hand, they returned to his bedroom. There was a moment of uncertainty, a moment in which Hermione hesitated, but then George looked at her, an indefinable but warm look in his eyes, and she leaned up and kissed him lightly, and he sighed into her kiss.

By mutual accord, they kissed softly, languidly, as they undressed. The touched each other softly, apology evident in the gentleness of their touches. The bed was large and inviting, and the emotional toll of the evening caught up with them, and as they touched they expressed the things they had not been allowed to say to each other. As George slid into her body with a gentle, rocking rhythm, Hermione had a fleeting thought that this was probably near what making love was like; a single tear slid down her cheek as she clung to him, holding onto him with a desperation she could not voice.

-o0o-

_A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed a pleasant holiday; I'm toiling away with my other story, and hope to be caught up enough to post on that this week. I'm hopeful that I'll be able to update again before the new year, but if not, I hope it greets you kindly! Cheers._


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: The characters and backgrounds contained within this piece do not belong to me, nor were they created by me. I do this for fun, not profit, and make no money from my endeavor. I suppose I ought to send JKR et al a nice thank you note for letting me borrow them then, eh?_

-o0o-

Chapter 7

-o0o-

"That's the last of it," George said matter-of-factly. Hermione watched from her position, seated cross legged on the bed, as George sealed up the last box. The morning had been a break from the seemingly endless drudgery of potion brewing, charms casting and biscuit baking, but it had been no less draining than those activities; George had finally decided it was time to go through his brother's things and box them up.

He had thought about inviting Mum and Dad to go through first, to see if there was anything they wanted, but thought, in the end, Fred wouldn't have liked Mum pawing through his things. So instead, he'd gone through, item by painful item. Some were set aside for their siblings, little things that were just so very Fred. Most of Fred's clothes went into George's wardrobe. They hadn't necessarily had the same tastes, but Hermione had suggested that he keep a few things, that he might feel closer to Fred in that way, and so he had. Not the jumpers Mum made, of course, those were in a box destined for the growing shrine at the Burrow.

Hermione had attempted to leave quietly once George had begun, but George had asked her directly to stay as he did this, so she had. He choked up a few times, especially when he tried to explain about one or two special items that had significance to him. There was a shell of some kind, probably a scallop, from a long ago, nearly forgotten trip to the seaside, which George had given to Fred, which he'd kept all this time. There was a notebook, filled with childish prank ideas and the first outlines of their shop and products. A small case inside his old school trunk filled with notes he and George had passed in class and pictures of their school days that Fred had kept. All these things went into his old school trunk, where George could view them whenever he chose. His old Quidditch uniform went in as well, his red blanket with the large gold 'F' and, inexplicably to Hermione, a pair of luridly striped socks with a hole in the toe.

George levitated the boxes he was keeping into his charmed wardrobe, where they were out of sight, and banished the boxes destined for the Burrow to the living room and finally looked around him. The room had not been the same since Hermione's arrival, when the two twin size beds had been joined together into one large bed, but now the smaller traces of Fred were gone, wiped away, leaving George feeling hollow. Not regretful, not exactly; simply sad and lonely. Before he could sink into melancholic thoughts, he turned briskly to Hermione.

"If you don't mind helping me, I thought we could move Fred's wardrobe into your bedroom. Doesn't make sense to keep two in here and doesn't make sense for you to keep digging your clothes out of your knapsack, not now I've emptied this out. Then we can move things around a bit more in here and make it more comfortable."

Hermione was surprised but didn't show it. "If you like George. Though simply casting a featherlight charm negates the need for two of us to levitate it."

George smiled suddenly. "Good point that. I was only thinking of how a shrinking charm wasn't useful because the wardrobe has an expansion charm. You really are a brilliant witch, aren't you? Well come and tell me where to put it anyway."

Hermione dutifully followed him into the second bedroom, and directed him to put the wardrobe in the corner. It was a surprisingly nice room, but saw little use. Hermione sometimes napped in here, or read in here, when she needed some time alone to recuperate from the demands of the hard work, or from the demands of a grieving friend. It sometimes happened that the room was put to more carnal use as well, but that was infrequent; most of George and Hermione's sexual activities occurred in the night, in the large bed they'd shared.

The wardrobe in place, George stepped back to take a look. Hermione touched his arm, then slid her arm around his waist, and leaned her head into his chest.

"How are you feeling?" she asked quietly.

He let out a long, loud breath. "Not great, really."

"Let's not go back to work. Let's go somewhere and get something to eat," she suggested.

George wrapped a long arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "It's not a bad idea. Though we could have a good deal more fun here," he said.

"Let's get something and come back and have an entire afternoon's worth of fun. You could use a break from the flat. The only other place you've been is the Burrow. Let's go. We can go through the Leaky to muggle London if you don't want to eat anywhere along the Alley," Hermione said, her voice cajoling.

"An entire afternoon of fun?" George said after a moment.

"I'll be at your disposal. You can do whatever you like. Within reason," Hermione hastened to add, as she saw a familiar gleam light George's eyes.

"Yeah, all right. Let's go through the Leaky. Fancy a curry?"

"Sounds divine. Let me just change out of the work robes. You're muggle enough in that, why don't you go downstairs and make sure the potions in stasis are still safe and I'll be down in a moment."

George pressed a kiss to Hermione's forehead, a gesture that was becoming commonplace when they separated for any length of time, and she smiled at him. In a low voice he said, "Thank you for this morning, Hermione. I wouldn't have been able to do it without you there."

"That's why I'm here, George," she said softly. With another squeeze of her shoulders, he left the room, and she could hear him lope down the stairs. Knowing it would take a few minutes to properly check the potions, Hermione took the time to arrange her clothes in the wardrobe. It was rather nice, and felt more permanent, to have them stored somewhere other than her knapsack. She didn't have many personal possessions left, and didn't spend much time in the room, but those things she did have had found their way to various nooks and crannies. Anyone who wasn't there to observe would probably think that she actually lived in this space.

She didn't think on that though, simply put away her clothes and spent a few moments selecting an outfit. Nothing fancy, it wasn't a date of course. It was just George, and they were just going for lunch. But a little something, only a grey shirt that hugged her curves nicely and gave her a pleasantly rosy complexion and some jeans, just something to make him look forward to their afternoon's tryst. That was all. She paid less attention to her hair, simply using an elastic to pull it out of her face. God knew George had seen her in every state of dress and was used to her wild hair. He'd once even told her it was exceptionally sexy, not that that mattered in the least.

No, she wasn't dressing to attract him or please him. That was what one did for wizards one was interested in dating, and this was George Weasley. Yes, they were shagging, frequently. And yes it was good, wonderful, amazing, and brilliant. But Hermione never lost sight of the fact that George was still struggling every day in trying to find equilibrium after half of him was suddenly gone. She didn't need much reminder; the deep depression was lessened, the mood swings were less dizzying of late, but the pain behind his eyes, etched on his face, in his words was ever present, always between them, always whispering to her that whatever might be happening between them was best left quiet. Maybe someday, when his grief was lesser . . . but that wasn't now. Now Hermione needed simply to take her friend out for a lunch, away from the sight of an emotionally painful and draining morning.

Without a glance in the mirror, she moved quickly downstairs.

-o0o-

George checked the potions dutifully; they were fine, as he expected, but he wasn't sorry to have a few minutes alone. He'd wanted Hermione's calming, soothing, gentle presence while he went through Fred's things, but a few moments to talk to Fred inside his head, as he often found himself doing now, was welcome. Standing before Fred's old workbench, still filled with his tools, which George used now, his eyes went blurry with sudden warm wetness.

"I miss you, you know," he whispered. George looked furtively about him, knowing he was alone, and yet wanting be certain no one could see him. He laid a hand on the book of recipes and directions that Fred had so carefully put together for them. "It still hurts like a bludger to the chest. It's been nearly eight weeks, Fred. Hermione's worked so hard that we're going to be open again by August, but you know that. Sometimes, when I'm here alone and the potions are going, I expect to hear you laughing or to see you slouch into the workroom, grinning, ready to tell me all about the gorgeous bird you just chatted up."

He brushed the tears from his eyes, and leaned against the worktable, still talking with a brother who was unlikely to hear him. "It still feels wrong, you know. Everything. It's easier with her here. I know she's afraid of it. That I'll get used to her and rely on her instead of coping. Maybe she's right. I can't imagine her not being here at this point. Is it strange that I imagine you coming back here as if nothing's happened, but still see her here? You'd have been thrilled. You really had it bad for her, didn't you? I didn't always understand what you saw in her, but I do now. You were right again, eh, Forge?" George gave a low chuckle, just as a voice sounded behind him; not Hermione's voice, not from the stairs, but from the store.

"Oh, George. I miss him too, so very much," Angelina Johnson said, her eyes bright with tears.

George jumped, badly startled, a hand to his chest, his face gone pale. "An-Angelina! Merlin's bollocks! What the bloody hell are you doing here? How'd you get in?"

She gave him a strange look. "You haven't updated your wards. Fred spelled me in, remember? I was in the Alley doing some shopping. Last time we saw each other you said you were working to reopen the shop. Thought I'd come by and see if you wanted to set up a lunch. See how you are," she said quietly, tears forming again in her eyes. She had closed the distance between them, and had reached out to him, resting her hand on his forearm.

George's heart was still beating rapidly, and he was distinctly uncomfortable. He wondered how long she had been there, and how much she might have overheard. Hermione had made it clear after Harry and Ron's visits and before the short visits to the Burrow they'd taken that she did not want to discuss their relationship or let on that they were perhaps more than simply friends and flatmates and colleagues. George hadn't minded; he didn't want to get his mum's hopes or ire up, not when their situation was so undefined. He might have difficulty picturing his new life without her in it, but that didn't mean they were in a relationship, it only meant he wasn't looking too far into the future. The present was more than enough to be getting on with.

And the present was intruding most uncomfortably in the form of a witch who was unbearably close to him, eyes overflowing, looking at him a bit desperately. George awkwardly patted her hand, and offered her a conjured handkerchief, which she thankfully took from him.

"Right," he said, an apologetic half smile on his face. "You just startled me. I wasn't expecting company. So, er, the shop. As you can see," he said, gesturing out to the shelves, "it's slow going, but products are being restocked as fast as they can be. I had to vanish nearly everything, the Death Eaters left it fairly well trashed. I'm hanging in there, I suppose. How're you doing?"

She shrugged. "Well enough. It's not easy. I know you know how it is. I got a slot on the practice squad with Montrose, which isn't bad. I'd hoped to secure at least a reserve squad slot, but I didn't fly as well as I'd hoped. Still, Montrose didn't fill all their slots and they are expecting to call up at least two of us and definitely at least one chaser, so if I work hard, I can still make it this season. If it doesn't work out for this season, I can still play in the winter amateur leagues."

"That's really great, Ange. I'm sure you'll do brilliantly. You're a great chaser when you're on your game."

"That's really quite sweet of you, George. Listen, I haven't got much time, I'm to meet up Alicia for her lunch hour in a few moments. It's only . . . well, I'd really like to see you soon. I miss Fred so much, and I know everyone does, but not the way you and I do, you know? I know how much you are hurting right now." She bit her lip, and looked away from him.

George didn't know quite what to say. Honestly, he didn't want to see her. She distressed him. Even now, she was standing far too close to him for his comfort, and maybe it was unfair of him, but he didn't like how she assumed things about how he was doing. Hermione would probably patiently tell him it was normal to have feelings of protectiveness of Fred's memory or jealousy towards others who were also grieving him or some such rot, but he didn't care if his annoyance was justified or not. George really didn't want to talk over how he was feeling about his dead brother with his brother's ex-girlfriend; not when he knew that his brother wasn't serious, and had actually been interested in someone else. Especially not when that someone else was sleeping with him and going to walk downstairs any second.

But Angelina was standing there, pathetically sad, looking as lonely as he had been at times. They may not have been terribly close of late, but she had been a good friend in the past, someone Fred had cared for at one time, someone he would still count among his friends now. Avoiding her to spare his own feelings of discomfort would be hurtful and cowardly and he knew it. So he did his best to paste on a smile and said, "Yeah. Er, how about lunch? Maybe next Tuesday?"

"Tuesday's bad for me. Would this Friday work for you?" she said hopefully.

He shrugged. "Friday should be fine. I'll meet you at the Leaky at noon, then?" he said.

"Yeah, that's great. I'm really looking forward to it," she said with a soft smile. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, but it was low, and came closer to kissing the corner of his mouth. George felt a wave of uneasiness shudder through him at that gesture. Before he could do more than frown, Angelina squeezed his shoulder, waved and was gone, leaving a strong feeling of foreboding in her place. Not that he could do anything about it now.

A clattering on the steps behind him drew his thoughts away from Angelina, and back to more pleasant thoughts. He couldn't quite erase his discomfiture, but he was relieved to see Hermione. She stopped on the last step, and peered at him, a small frown on her face.

"George, are you all right? You look troubled. We really don't have to go out, if you'd rather not. I don't mind cooking."

He tried to focus solely on the witch before him, but his thoughts were in turmoil, and after everything in the past three hours he felt wildly unsettled. Still, he thought her initial idea had been the best one. A change of scenery would probably do more to help him than moping about here. So he twisted a smile onto his face – one he knew she'd see through easily – and nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, just thinking's all. I actually know of a decent place for curry not far from the Leaky, assuming it's still open."

Hermione nodded slowly. She wanted to ask, but refused to push. "A place you've been before?"

"Just a couple of times. Fred's the one what found it, really. Pretty good, all things considered. I think you'll like it."

"Are you sure you want to go there?" Hermione asked, a touch of unease in her voice.

George merely shrugged. "I've gotten more used to going places alone that we used to visit together. This wasn't a place where we had many long, fond memories like the Three Broomsticks or anything. It's really fine, Hermione. But if you'd rather someplace else, that's fine."

"No, curry sounds good. I'd rather not go to a dodgy place, of course. Shall we, then?" she asked, making a small gesture towards the front door. He smiled again, more naturally now, if still strained, and sauntered out before her, causing her to chuckle.

-o0o-

It was a nice lunch. They sat in a far corner booth, away from prying eyes. Something about being in a new environment seemed to rejuvenate them. They couldn't be called happy, exactly, both being too somber yet for that, but there was a more cheerful and even relaxed air about them than had been noticeable. George found it easy to relax around Hermione, and it had become something of a game of late to try and make her grin. She was quite good at schooling her features against it, but if nothing else, his flailing attempts at humor were often enough to make her smile fondly at him.

"You know, Hermione," he said, after swallowing a mouthful lamb tikka, "You really ought to know better than to agree to be entirely at my disposal." His eyes were gleaming, sending a happy thrill through her.

Hermione swallowed her sag aloo paneer and raised an eyebrow at him, then shrugged. "I trust you, George."

"What if I've got some sort of kinky fantasy?" he asked, a genuine, full, mischievous smile lighting up his face that was so familiar it nearly took her breath away.

"I did say within reason, George. If I don't like it, I won't do it." She quickly popped piece of naan in her mouth, ignoring the fluttering in her stomach.

George leaned forward, and his voice dropped. He looked at her from hooded eyes, that grin playing at his lips. "What if I want you to put on your old Hogwarts uniform so I can take my turn sending you to detention? Wonder what you'd be willing to do to avoid something going on your squeaky clean record."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and clicked her tongue. "Such a cliché, George. I expected something more creative."

"That's not a no," George laughed.

"It's not a yes either. Now if you want me to dress up in my old uniform and punish you properly for all the havoc you created, since I think you did much of it on purpose to wind me up, we could talk."

She was rewarded for her cheekiness by a rich laugh. "You are getting nearly as bad as me, love." His eyes actually twinkled at her for a moment before he continued, "Thank you for getting me out of the flat. You were right, this is better than going back to work. I am looking forward to an afternoon with you though. Don't think I haven't noticed the way that shirt clings to you." The way he looked at her as he said it, with frank appreciation, with evident enjoyment, with open lust, made her flush and made a shiver run down her spine. Hermione tried to hide her response to him, but the smirk on his face made it clear that she wasn't terribly successful.

George did enjoy the faint pink tinge on her cheeks, but his smile faded as he realized that he'd agreed to go out in three days with another witch. The sudden frown was enough to catch Hermione's attention, instantly arousing her concern. She reached across the table, lightly touching George's arm. It was so much like what Angelina had done earlier, but George felt very differently about Hermione's touch. It was gentle and reassuring, rather than invasive. "George?" she asked quietly.

"I'm all right, really," he said, resting his hand over hers, squeezing it for a moment. "Just getting filled up. Ready to get back home." He winked at Hermione, and she pursed her lips in an attempt to look severe. George cocked his head at Hermione, then a slow smile spread across his face, and his fingers began tracing her hand. He raised an eyebrow challengingly at Hermione, and picked up her hand, setting it down gently, palm up. Lightly, his middle finger traced over her palm, almost as if he were doing some sort of palm reading. It was a moment before she closed her hand over his, her palm still tingling.

The rest of the meal was quickly finished and paid for. George and Hermione left the shop, and he put an arm around her. It was a friendly gesture, but the pressure of his hand resting on her hip was distracting to her. Her arm went tentatively around his waist, and they walked slowly back towards the Leaky Cauldron.

"How did Fred find out about that place?" she finally asked, wanting conversation to fill the space between them.

"Chatting up a bird on a grocery run. You noticed I go muggle for that? Far less expensive. So he runs into this gorgeous blonde muggle, pretends he needs help with finding a spice, and gets her to agree to dinner. She wants Indian and he claims to know a good place. Bloody ran back to the shop, dropped off the groceries and then scrambled to find a place near enough to Diagon he wouldn't get lost," George said, chuckling over the memory. "He was practically frantic until he stumbled across it."

"I take it the date didn't go well?" Hermione asked.

"It went fine, but then Angelina came round again. And it's bloody fancy wandwork to explain to a muggle why you've not got a telephone and why they can't come round to visit you in your shop. More trouble than it's worth, really."

"Yes, I can see that. You seem to be awfully lazy when it comes to relationships; I mean, goodness, I'm just right there," Hermione said in a teasing voice.

George, however, stopped short, causing Hermione to stop as well. There was a sudden intensity about him. He looked Hermione straight in the eye. "Hermione, love, I know we've never really said what this is between us or talked about it, but I want you to know that it's not just because you are around. It's not as if you could be replaced with any bird off the street, or because you happened to bring me a basket from Mum that day." He reached up to cup her cheek, and leaned down to kiss her lips softly. "It's _you_. You need to be clear on that."

Her mouth was suddenly dry, and her heart was beating quickly. George could see the confusion in her eyes, and something else that he couldn't quite place. Hope, fear? He didn't know. She licked her lips to try and moisten them, and her voice was squeaky when she finally spoke. "Right. I um. . ."

He placed a finger over her lips, stopping her. "No, no, don't. I know what you want to say. At some point, we'll have to figure it out. You're absolutely right. But, today's not the day, and this is not the place. Let's just go back home, yeah?"

Hermione took a deep breath, and nodded, but didn't move at first. When George looked at her inquiringly, she bit her lip. He waited patiently as she seemed about to say something, but in the end, she settled for pulling him down and engaging him in a thorough snog right there on the sidewalk, finally breaking off to whisper, "All right. Let's get home. I'll even put on my old uniform if you really want me to."

It was clearly a way to move past the unspoken, to ignore the presence that seemed always to be trailing them, watching over them, to pretend that they were unaware of the irregularity and perhaps ill-advice of their actions. Which was perfectly fine with both of them. George understood what Hermione was not able or willing to say, and he kissed her forehead with perfect understanding, before smacking her on the arse playfully.

"With promises like that, I'm not sure why we're still in public. Let's get back then," he said lightly.

-o0o-

Hermione had realized weeks ago that George was always more open with her after a sexual encounter, and today, a heavily emotional day that he'd borne up under well, was no exception. She had indulged him, as she had promised to do, and the resulting sex seemed more intense to them both. As a result of a little play or as a result of their not quite a conversation and the things they didn't really say, well, Hermione was in no mood to speculate. She rather thought, as her breathing returned to normal, and George pulled her in close to spoon against him and hooked his chin over her shoulder, that he would want to talk.

"Bloody fantastic, Hermione. Have you any idea what you do to me?" he asked.

"Mmm, yes, some idea. I don't think anyone would believe what you do to me though," she responded dryly.

"Yes, I can see how that might be, especially if they knew the kinky things you like me doing to you," he said with a deep throaty chuckle. Hermione gave a contented sigh and snuggled further into George's embrace. A few minutes passed, neither of them feeling a pressing need to move from their comfortable positions, before George broke the silence. "Hermione, there's something I need to tell you."

"All right," she responded a bit cautiously. His tone was hesitant, somber, not reassuring at all.

"It's only that, well, something happened just before you came downstairs." He paused, searching for the right words to describe his encounters with Angelina, while Hermione waited patiently. "See, that night we had the disagreement, when I went for a walk, I ended up down at the Leaky. The thing is, I met someone there, by accident, like."

"Met someone?" Hermione asked, trying to sound neutral, but the tension that overtook her body was unmistakable.

"Not like that, sweets. No, it's that someone I know was there. Angelina, actually. She was there alone, drinking. She was really happy to see me. Only she got very tearful, and talked on about how hard she's having it with Fred gone." George sighed and Hermione winced. It was not an encounter she would relish, and guessed instinctively how George had felt.

"How did it feel to see her?"

"Awkward, really. I mean, we were friends and teammates in school, and I saw her a fair bit after because she and Fred dated. But we sort of kept our distance a bit after they began dating. I know I told you about her snogging me by mistake, yeah? She was quite angry about that for a long time, thinking we'd been playing her about, or at least thinking I had been because I kissed her back until my brain caught up with me."

"So you weren't really close, is what you're saying?"

"Yeah, that's it. And partly, I kept my distance because Fred wasn't really interested in dating her long-term, and I knew that. I never quite got the sense that he was as open with her about that as he was with me. So when I saw her and she's clutching a drink and crying over my brother, well, it wasn't really comfortable."

"Yes, I can see how that might be. I'm not entirely certain how it relates though," she said honestly.

"Right. She came by the shop before you came downstairs. I'd said I would see her again, probably have lunch or something, and she was around the Alley. I agreed to go to lunch with her, on Friday," he admitted, sounding a little frightened.

"All right," Hermione said, a note of question in her voice.

"That's ok with you?" George sounded surprised.

Hermione twisted, so that she could look George in the face. He looked uncertain, as if he wasn't sure what he was doing. "George, should it be otherwise?"

"No," he said slowly. "I suppose not, I just . . . I don't know."

"Are you going to shag her?"

"What? Of course not!" George sputtered.

"Then there is no reason for me to be unhappy with you deciding to go out with an old friend. You're a grown wizard, George, you get to make those decisions for yourself. Now if you're asking if I think it's a good idea, well, I don't know that. You seem ambivalent."

"I am. She makes me uncomfortable. I can't quite put it into words. But at the same time, she looked so sad and lonely. I thought about where I would be and how'd I look if you hadn't saved my sorry arse, and I thought it seemed the right thing to do."

"But you're not happy about it," Hermione stated.

"No," he agreed simply.

"You don't have to go," she said doubtfully.

"No I do. I put her off for awhile. It's only lunch. I guess, well, I just wanted you to know."

"You are a lovely friend to do this. I'm sure it's difficult," Hermione said quietly, smoothing his long hair away from his face.

George looked at her for a few moments, and then that intensity she'd seen earlier returned to him. "Hermione," he said, and his voice faltered. She looked at him, half expectant, half fearful. One long finger traced her cheekbone, and then ran lightly over her lips.

He cleared his throat and finally said, "It's still afternoon. I'm not done with you."

"Oh, no? What do you have in mind then?" Hermione asked in a low, quiet voice. There was a trembling in the air, and the moment hovering on the edge of something. She didn't want to disturb it, to scare it away, whatever it was.

"I'm going to make love to you, of course," he said, his voice matter of fact.

And he did. Hermione had wondered about what it would be like that night when George was so tender and gentle. This was much like that, but somehow more sweet, more cherished. It wasn't simply physical, about the mechanics of touch, speed, angle; it was instead somehow softer and more golden. Hermione and George moved together in a slow rhythm, absent of the frenzy that had marked their early encounters, but filled with a warmth that enriched the experience beyond what she was willing to put into words.

They didn't speak again, and there was nothing that could be said. George twined himself around Hermione, pressing a kiss into her temple as she fell asleep, and thought that as long as he lived, he would always preserve a treasured memory of this afternoon.

-o0o-

_A/N: This was originally a longer chapter, but as it kept going and going, I decided to split it up. This felt like a natural place to end. The good news is that the next update may even be this weekend. This has been on my mind a lot, probably because I've been listening to the song I associate with this story a great deal (coincidentally). I hope the New Year has been kind to you thus far, and you enjoy. Cheers!_


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: As always, these characters are not of my own creation and thus do not belong to me. I intend no copyright infringement or violation and make no profit from this endeavor. This may also be a good time to remind everyone that the story rating is M for a reason, adult themes as well as adult activities make this unsuitable for younger readers._

-o0o-

Chapter 8

-o0o-

George was nervous. It was not a sensation that he felt often, and it was bloody annoying. But he couldn't help it. He simply had a vaguely ill feeling about this lunch, but he wasn't willing to not go. George felt he owed at least that much to Angelina. Still, he hung about Hermione as closely as possible all morning, to her patient amusement.

"George, I need room to breathe, you know," she chided, as he leaned in from behind to peer into the cauldron and check the shade on the love potion she was brewing.

"Right, sorry. Just feeling anxious, I s'pose," he muttered apologetically.

"It's fine, really, but I wish you'd calm down. It's only lunch with Angelina," she said. "I'm sure it won't be easy, necessarily, but I hope it will be good for both of you."

George frowned, leaning against the work table. "Right, yeah. It's just, I dunno. Something I can't explain."

"Well, if it's horrid then take comfort, you won't have to do it again, you will have tried already. Now hand me that jar of dried lavender. If you're going to hover, might as well be useful." Hermione's voice was cheerful, giving away no indication of the gnawing worry that had grown over the past three days. George was more than hesitant or simply unhappy with the thought of an emotional time, and she'd learned his instincts were usually pretty spot on when it came to reading people. She wasn't entirely sure why she felt worried, whether it was simply over his well-being, given that he seemed to be coping a bit better these days, or if it were more personal in nature.

Hermione was not yet ready to admit that she felt far more for George than mere friendship and sympathy. Not as such at any rate. It made things far too complicated, and she knew that George wasn't ready for complication. They simply hadn't time for it. With the deadline of the first of August looming, they were pushing hard to get the stock as close to optimal as possible, and she knew George was concerned that they might not be at the necessary point. So complications and a potentially strained work relationship were not options right now. And spending too much time trying to sort out her misgivings about this appointment was not productive. So Hermione was outwardly cheerful and as soothing as she could be.

George reached for the lavender, and for want of activity, poured out the amount into the mortar to be crushed. Hermione watched, with a smile, as he took out his anxiety on the lavender.

"You know, muggles think lavender is a therapeutic plant. It's often used in products for relaxation, or the essential oil is, anyway," she commented idly.

"Of course it's relaxing, it's an extremely potent barbituate with the right preparation. It's essential to the base of nearly every sleeping potion available," George replied automatically.

"Well, most muggles don't have access to ground bicorn horn, so it generally carries only a mild effect. Perhaps a bit stronger in tea, though, because of the steeping. Has it made you feel any better?" she asked, eyebrow arched.

He looked a little sheepish as he nodded. Reluctantly, he set the pestle down, as any further grinding would render it too fine for this particular potion. The crushed lavender without the intensifying bicorn horn would lower defenses just a bit and render the drinker more dreamy and open to possibility. And it leant a nice floral fragrance to the potion. Still wishing he could do something, but with too little time to begin anything before his lunch date, he began fidgeting again.

"Oi, George, stop it. You're driving me batty. Just try to relax, please," she said pleadingly.

He sighed, and ran his hands through his long hair. "How do I look then?"

"Like normal, I suppose. Is there something I'm missing?" Hermione cocked her head and frowned at him.

"Not really. Just a general question. You'd best watch the heat on that. You're about to start boiling. Let me tell you, that's a mess you won't want to clean up. If it overheats, it acts like gelatinous glue. Gets everywhere. You'd probably end up with that shite in your hair and you'd need my help to fix it and I'd miss my lunch."

There was a knock at the door, and both Hermione and George jumped a bit. Angelina was framed in the doorway, wearing a nice skirt that showed off long, shapely legs, and form fitting sweater that made her look chic and put together. Hermione suddenly felt slovenly in her work robes and worn jeans, hair pulled haphazardly into a loose bun. She shook herself out of that thought; she was brewing potions, for Merlin's sake. Hermione knew that it was a waste of effort, and often a good way to destroy nice clothes to brew in them.

George's face had slipped into a neutral mask. He had agreed to meet Angelina at the Leaky Cauldron at noon, and it was a quarter til and she'd appeared in the shop again. Certainly at this rate, he would have to consider new wards. The knot of worry in his stomach grew, and there was a moment of silence as Angelina eyed Hermione, a tiny frown on her face.

"Right, hello, Ange. You remember Hermione Granger?" he finally said to break the silence.

"Oh, yes, of course. You look differently than you used to, you were so tidy in school I wouldn't have recognized you," Angelina said with a charming smile. Hermione felt the barb in her words and stiffened, but was determined to be pleasant in return.

"Yes, I'm a fair mess at the moment. Much like you are after Quidditch, I imagine. Neither Quidditch nor high-volume potion brewing are particularly adapted to cleanliness. I'd shake hands, but I'm a bit tied up at present. Lovely to see you," Hermione said, her voice sweetness and honey. George's lips twitched, knowing she was biting down hard on some sarcastic words.

"Right. Well, since you're here, let's go on then. Want me to bring you anything back, Hermione?" George asked.

"Yes, I would appreciate it. I imagine this batch will be ready for bottling by the time you're back and I'll be well ready for a break. Enjoy your lunch." Hermione smiled, and George kissed her on the forehead, squeezing her shoulder lightly before turning to Angelina, whose frown was decidedly more pronounced.

"Shall we?" George asked more cheerfully than he felt, already striding past her to open the door for her.

"Yes, let's," Angelina said with an attempt to smile that fell a little flat.

-o0o-

They walked sedately up the Alley towards the Leaky Cauldron in silence for more than a few moments until Angelina said abruptly, "So, Hermione Granger is brewing potions for you?"

"Yeah, she's been helping out ever since I moved back to the flat. We had stock that we moved to Muriel's and sold via owls, and some stock we weren't able to move that we hid down in the storeroom that wasn't touched, but most of the shelved stock and nearly all our potions stores were complete rubbish. Had to vanish the lot. I need a lot of help if I'm going to reopen before school starts up, and it's not just anyone who can manage the level of brewing and charms casting that are required. I'd be totally lost without Hermione helping me." George's voice dipped some at the end, but Angelina paid no heed, the relief at figuring out Hermione's status washing out any warning note that may have sounded.

"It's really kind of her to work for you. What about Verity?" she asked, her tone much more pleasant.

"I heard from her briefly. She said she took another job, but that she'd be happier working for me again if I needed her, just to let her know what my plans were. I'll definitely bring her back in for the opening, and we'll see after that. She's fantastic floor person, but she doesn't do production well."

They had reached their destination by this time and George politely held the door again for Angelina. She preceded him, and when Angelina would have moved towards a secluded booth near the back, George quickly grasped a chair at a far less intimate table and held it out for her. The look that flashed over her face was fleeting, but annoyed. He sat hastily and Tom came over to present their menus and take their drink orders. Angelina ordered white wine, but George stuck with butterbeer.

"Butterbeer? You used to be more adventurous," she commented idly.

"Yeah, well, Hermione isn't a fan of me drinking and working. She said that if I wanted to blow up my shop, that was my business, but it had to be sometime she wasn't working just beside me," he said flippantly. George expected a chuckle, but instead that frown reappeared.

"Right. I suppose you'll be wanting toad in the hole? That's what Fred always ordered, anyway," Angelina said, tossing her menu to the side. "I'll have jellied eel and a side of crisps, please," she added to Tom, who had reappeared with their drinks.

Now George was frowning. He knew that he and Fred had switched places frequently, but they weren't actually the same person, and the fact that Angelina seemed to casually assume he would have the same likes and dislikes as Fred irritated him, particularly since she'd eaten meals with them for the better part of nine years. "Bangers and mash for me, Tom, and a boxed up order of fish and chips for me to take back to the shop. Can you some tartar sauce to that? Thanks, mate."

Tom left and an uncomfortable silence fell between them. George fiddled some with his mug of butterbeer; Angelina crossed and recrossed her legs.

"So, how are things getting on with Montrose?" he finally asked.

"Pretty well, actually. Not to brag, but I really think I'm the best flyer in the practice squad. We played against the reservists yesterday and I bagged three goals and assisted on two more. It was brilliant, really." For a moment, her eyes were shining, and she was grinning and George smiled back. Angelina had always loved Quidditch, and they'd had a good time playing together back at Hogwarts, and this was reminiscent of that easier time.

"Brilliant, well done, you. I've barely stirred outside the shop, so I've no idea. How are the old group? Lee owled me last week, but it were only a short note."

Angelina seemed to close up a shade. "Well enough. Katie's still abroad while she's on break from her trainee courses. She seems to enjoy them though, and will make a good healer. Alicia is still seeing Oliver. They're well enough, but they spend a good deal of time at the flat. Terribly annoying, really."

"Alicia and Oliver, now I can't say I ever saw that coming," George mused. "Still, I'm glad they're happy together."

Angelina made a face. "I just wish they'd be happy at his flat. They leave off silencing charms a lot. I just think it's a bit insensitive, really, considering . . ." Her voice choked up, to George's irritation and alarm, but she quickly took a swallow of her wine and shook her head, pressing her lips together in an effort not to cry.

"Right. Er, uh, how's the family?" he inquired quickly.

"Dad's fine, but Mum's not been great, really. Two of her best friends from school were killed during the war, and she really wants to leave England, but Dad doesn't really. Makes things tense at home. Add to that Mum's horror and shame that I've pursued Quidditch to such lengths in spite of her raising me to be a nice girl, and well. I don't visit much these days."

"Sorry to hear about that," George said truthfully.

She shrugged, but their food arrived before she could say anything else. They ate together, but the silence wasn't quite so strained, though George noticed Angelina pushing around her food more than eating it.

"So, what happened to that witch you were seeing before you and Fred disappeared?" she asked.

"Oh, that wasn't serious. I've no idea what happened to her," George said, his dread returning.

"I'm surprised that you are reopening so quickly,"she said in a thoughtful tone.

George shrugged, his eyes on his food. "We promised each other. It's not easy, but I promised him."

"I miss him so much," she said softly.

"I know, I do too," he said shortly. Why he wanted to avoid this with her, George wasn't sure. He talked freely enough about the constant ache and sense of loss he dealt with everyday to Hermione. He was able to listen to Hermione talk about Fred as well. Why was it such a struggle to do the same with Angelina?

"Fred was going to propose to me," she said suddenly, with fierce intensity, breaking into his thoughts.

George's head shot up. "What?"

"Yeah. Just before you two left, well, we'd had that enormous fight, you know. It was stupid, but I was so angry that he was being so secretive. Of course, I understand now. We rowed and I stalked out, but I felt terribly about it. I came by to see him, you were at the Burrow, I think. We couldn't talk long, but he said that he expected he'd be going to a safer place soon and that we needed to talk about our future together when he came back. If you could have seen his face. . . And then, at the battle at Hogwarts, he was so cheerful, so happy to see me. I knew it then. And then he was just . . . gone."

George's mouth dropped open, and he quickly snapped his jaw shut, clamping down on the words of incredulity and disbelief. Telling her the truth would serve no purpose, only hurt her more. George remembered that last fight, remembered how tired Fred had been. He hadn't told George that he was definitely breaking it off from her, but Fred had told him on more than on occasion it was not going to last.

"I guess he didn't actually tell you everything, did he? He always said not, but I don't think I believed him," she said, her mouth twisting sadly. "I wasted so much time with him, so many petty fights. I wish I'd known," she said, finally dissolving into tears.

George was at a loss. The grief pouring out from Angelina made him choke up. She was wrong about Fred and his intentions and she didn't know it, but it explained a bit more of her grief, and he felt the same way. There was so much time George wished he could have back. So many things he wish he could say to him now that had seemed unimportant before, or that he thought Fred knew or that he believed could wait.

Hesitantly, he reached across the table, and grabbed her hand, and made some soothing noises. She clung to it, as she'd done that first night, but George didn't feel the same welling of discomfort; it was pushed aside by pity. He tried to think of words that would be true, eventually saying, "Look, Ange, Fred cared about you very much. The last thing he'd want is for you to be making yourself so miserable over him. Just like he wanted me to go on and keep the store going, he'd want you to keep flying, to keep playing Quidditch, to shag the brains out of some lucky bloke and to live and love and laugh. That's what he liked doing."

The irony was not lost on him.

Angelina gave him a watery, weak smile. "It's just hard. I don't know how it's so easy for you, George. You seem to be doing well."

George bit back the rush of annoyance. "It depends on the day, really. It hurts. But I know I'm doing what he wanted me to do, and that helps." Privately, the image of Hermione floated through his mind, her smile, her touch, the feel of her arms around him as he told her about those parts of Fred only George ever saw, and spilled out his grief to her.

"It feels like everyone else has forgotten about him, everyone else has just moved on, and I'm still stuck back there at Hogwarts, watching your fa-family carry his b-body into the Gr-great Hall."

George shuddered. He didn't think he would ever forget that feeling, skidding to a stop, already knowing because of the sudden quietness in his soul that his brother was gone. He'd never forget the pain that jarred his entire body as he fell to his knees on the flagstone floor and touched Fred's still-warm face. He'd never forget the rising panic that nearly choked him to death and he yelled at Fred to stop, because it wasn't a fucking joke, and his mother wrapping her arms around him, and he wanted to cry, but all he could do was stare at his own mirror-image laying there, still. . .

His own eyes were feeling wet, and he closed his eyes, trying frantically to think of anything else, picture anything but Fred's slack, soulless face on the stone floor, and suddenly, there was Hermione, undulating beneath him, body flushed with arousal, eyes dark, moaning his name, and the tension that had been building released into a sigh.

"It helps though, talking to you," Angelina said, in a slightly different tone of voice, squeezing his hand, recalling him rudely back to his present surroundings. "Really, spending time with you, it's comforting. Almost like having him here."

George was still reeling from being hit with the flood of memories he'd locked away, and the sudden wariness he'd felt earlier joined that confusing storm of emotions raging in him. Angelina was rubbing her thumb over his hand, and it was a gesture he didn't care for. It was too intimate.

"I'm glad it helps some," he said, with an uncertain smile. "I should be getting back though. Hermione will definitely be needing a break soon. I hope that things get a little easier for you, Ange. Fred would want you to be happy."

Angelina stood up, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a wallet. George stood up, took out his own moneybag and stopped her. "No, it's on me, really."

"Thanks, George. Maybe we could do it again?" She hovered by the table, resting a hand on his forearm, looking hopeful.

"Maybe. Things will be crazy for the next few weeks, since we're focused on reopening August first," he said, unwilling to commit to a time. He felt tired and worn out.

"I'll just owl then or something. Thanks, George, for everything," Angelina said, and wrapped an arm around him. He automatically returned it, and heard her sigh. She turned her head and kissed his cheek, but it was a more lingering kiss than simple friendship would dictate. He released her and she stepped back, seeming reluctant. With a tiny dash at her eyes, she waved and walked out of the pub.

George resumed his seat, feeling the need to pause before returning to the shop and the flat. Tom approached him, a look of sympathy on his face. "Mr. Weasley, would you like this boxed up with your other meal?"

"Er, yeah. That'd be good, thanks. Could I have a firewhiskey as well please? And would you add a bottle to the rest as well?"

"Of course. Four galleons, nine sickles, and six knuts please," Tom replied. George handed him five galleons, and accepted the glass of firewhiskey that was set before him. He rubbed his eyes, and sighed. In many ways, he thought the lunch had gone better than expected, but he felt almost worse than he had before. Angelina actually believed Fred had loved her so much; no wonder she was such a wreck. Still, apart from pity, there wasn't much nice feeling towards her, which made him feel a bit guilty.

What a bloody mess. George decided thinking was overrated anyhow, and tossed down his drink. The hot burn washed down his throat, giving him something to focus on. He accepted a box from Tom that contained his leftovers and Hermione's lunch and the bottle of firewhiskey that he had requested, and walked out the door, more than ready to get back to safety, which seemed to be inextricably linked with Hermione's presence.

-o0o-

Hermione passed the time by focusing on her brew, but there was no question she was anxious. The brief interlude with Angelina had set her teeth on edge, and it wasn't a feeling she at all liked. It was too akin to jealousy, which was delving into territory she wasn't considering at this time. No wonder George had felt such unease in her presence. She had acted as if Hermione were invading her territory and that was terribly uncomfortable; George wasn't property, after all.

The pleasant smell arising from the now cooling, perfectly pale pink potion pleased her, but not did not ease the knot of foreboding that had settled into her stomach. She summoned a box of the bottles for the potion, and began setting them out, though it would be another twenty minutes before the potion could possibly be safely added to them. Twenty minutes to fill; they'd been gone for forty-five minutes. George hadn't said when he expected to be back, but she could see it easily stretching into hours. Biting her lip, Hermione tidied her workstation, which took all of three minutes, as she was orderly and methodical while brewing.

Really, she ought to start another potion or replenish the bases she'd been using this week. But her mind was wandering; she didn't think she could concentrate. George was bringing her food, so making herself something to eat was redundant. Idly, she drummed her fingers on the counter, huffed, and then walked a short circuit about the workroom. The very last thing she wanted was to spend time thinking. Hermione had been doing her best to avoid that since the other day. Sternly, she reminded herself again that complication was the last thing George needed, especially now. Right, if she couldn't settle herself to brew something else, then she could at least look at something else. The attempt to read through the directions for the timing element of the fake wands took a good four minutes off the clock. She only had ten minutes now until the potion could be realistically bottled.

Thus, the relief she felt on hearing the door to the shop open was palpable. George was back, and seemingly alone, looking thoroughly washed out and carrying a box. He said nothing, but set the box down, and in a motion that utterly surprised Hermione, picked her up, swung her around and deposited her on his worktable, and proceeded to kiss her as if it was his last chance. That she kissed him back as eagerly was not lost on her. Eventually, she broke off, and he rested his forehead against hers, sighing, arms on either side of her propping himself up, while she slid her arms about him in a loose embrace.

"That bad?" she asked softly.

"No, and yes. I'm very glad to be back here, shall we say?" he said ruefully. "You are probably starved. I brought your lunch, if fish and chips are all right." He pulled away to rummage in the box and retrieve a carton of food under a warming charm, which he handed to her.

"Thanks. But that potion is just about ready for bottling. And I see you've brought food home as well. Let's do that bottling, and we can go eat together." She made no comment on the firewhiskey that also rested in the box, for which he was grateful.

"Right. With both of us, it should be a snap. This looks perfect, excellent, Hermione. You are as good as we always thought you'd be," he said, trying to force some cheerfulness into his voice. "Although, I have to admit I'm still a bit surprised you'd agree to brew love potions."

"Well, I'm not enamored of them," she said honestly, sealing the bottles as he filled them. "I don't like that it takes away someone's power of choice. But yours are at last mild and wear off in a few hours, and I at least know they are properly brewed and safe to consume. Better that than some poor sod being poisoned out of desperation." Her tone was wry.

"Ah, that's my girl, coming round to our morally ambiguous way of thinking," a real warmth creeping into his voice. Hermione merely rolled her eyes.

The bottles were filled and sealed in short order, and George carried their lunches upstairs. Hermione pulled off her workrobe and disappeared into the bathroom to thoroughly wash her hands and face. George set down the food, and went into the bedroom to put on something more comfortable, calling out to Hermione to start without him.

There was no need to tell her twice, she was terribly hungry. The smell alone was enough to make her mouth water. She was pleased to see that George had remembered to ask for tartar sauce. She dug in, and George appeared shortly, now clad in lounging clothes. He retrieved the remains of his lunch, and dug in with a sigh.

After a bite or two, he said, "She assumed I'd want toad in the hole because Fred always ordered it."

"Oh dear," Hermione said, a bit inadequately. There was another brief silence while they ate, and George continued thinking about the lunch.

"She thinks that Fred was going to propose to her. I didn't know what to say." George concentrated on his food. Hermione chewed a bit more slowly, thinking.

"Maybe she was right? I know you think he fancied me, but I don't know. I think he was just having a lark."

"No, she's not right. I am confident he fancied you. I knew there was someone, just not who. And Fred was very clear with me that Angelina was not a long-term option, not as he saw it. They fought a lot."

"Then why does she think . . .?" Hermione began to question.

"Apparently, Fred said something to her about needing to discuss their future, and she took it in a positive sort of light," George sighed. "I didn't correct her. I mean, what good would that do now? It seemed cruel."

"Oh, George," Hermione said quietly, unsure what else to say to him. He fell quiet, poking at the remainder of his mashed potatoes, while she finished her fish and started in on her chips. She was grateful for the distraction, because she sensed he wasn't done yet, but didn't want to push or prod. It took through most of the chips for him to work up to stating what else had happened. In fact, it wasn't until Hermione set the nearly empty box aside that George spoke again.

"She brought up the battle at Hogwarts, and seeing Fred." George's voice was flat, his eyes blank, much as he'd looked that first day she came over. She reached over and took his hand in hers. He sighed, and looked at Hermione sadly, looking at her as if he wanted to study every thing about her, as if she were on the verge of leaving him too.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head.

"What do you want to do then?" she asked. He shrugged. "Do you want to do some more work? Maybe go for a walk? Are you tired? Do you want to take a nap?"

George shook his head again. "I want you."

"You've got me," she said in a low voice. "I'm here."

George closed the distance between them, and took her face in his hands, and tenderly kissed her lips, moving against her mouth, whispering, "I _want_ you." Her mouth opened, and tongues tangled as his need, his longing drove him. She could not refuse him, not when he was like this. His hands carefully took down her messy bun and his fingers wrapped themselves in her wild hair. His lips moved to her jaw and her throat, leaving a scorching heat in their wake.

Hermione pushed him away when he reached for her shirt, to his evident dismay. She stood up unsteadily, gave him a half-smile and retrieved her wand from the coffee table and cast a secure locking charm at the door and motioned him back towards the bedroom, stripping her shirt off en route. George followed her with alacrity, shedding his own clothes along the way. As soon as the door had closed, another locking charm followed, and George was upon her, eagerly touching and tasting every inch of her that he could, backing her up to the bed, causing them to fall onto it with a muffled thump.

There was a frenzy in his actions, some sort of need driving him, that Hermione gave up any pretense of reciprocation and simply allowed him to ravish her. His fingers were rougher than usual, demanding when he was usually teasing, almost as if he could wrench an orgasm from her. Not that it was painful or against her will, no she was responding to him in a way that might embarrass her normally. Again, and again, his mouth returned from some part of her body for a long kiss that left her panting and breathless, and she was _so_ close when he abruptly stopped and looked down at her, his face contorting into a grimace, as if he were trying not to cry.

"George?" she asked, not wanting to push him, but wanting to comfort him, wanting to stave off the tears that were now pricking at her own eyes.

His fingers continued to tease her clitoris, stringing her along, but he began speaking in a low voice. "I knew he was gone, before I saw him, I knew it."

Now his fingers were sliding down and into her, and almost against her will, she was bucking against him. Gods, she could handle talking to him about this, but she wasn't sure she could do if he was going to continue this while he did it. She bit back a moan, and tried to protest, but he seemed not to hear her.

"They brought his body into the Great Hall and I had helped carry in someone else for medical attention, and then I saw him, lying there on the floor. Hermione, you are so beautiful. God, I love looking at you like this, coming undone for me."

"George. . . oh!" she gasped, he had taken her nipple into his mouth, and was teasing it with his tongue. "Really, please," was all she could manage as his fingers returned to her clitoris.

"Do you know for a moment, I hoped he was playing a joke? I screamed at him to stop it, even though I knew it. I touched him. He was still warm. But not like you are, not like right now," he mused, again thrusting his fingers into her. Hermione whimpered, hating that he was talking about this while pleasuring her.

"I don't want to remember it," he said suddenly. "I don't want to see his face anymore, not like that. When she brought it up, and I saw it, the only thing that made it go away was seeing you, like this. God, Hermione, what is wrong with me?"

George flung himself away from her, nearly sobbing. Hermione felt relief, but was still so near the edge that if felt as if all her limbs were tingling. She sat up and crawled to George, pulling him into a hug, feeling his tears on her shoulder.

"Nothing is wrong with you, George. Some bad memories, worse than bad, awful horrible images you don't want to remember were brought back today. Wanting not to see them isn't bad. Wanting to replace them with something else isn't bad."

"I'm sorry. I'm using you. It's not fair to you," he said.

"You aren't. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be," she said. Then she did as he had done in the lounge, and took his face between her hands and kissed him. It was wet and salty, both their tears mingling together. After a moment, George's hands came around to fondle a breast, and make circles on her hip that sent hot jolts melting through her, and as that kiss ended and another began, Hermione pulled him closer, and tugged at her, and she was straddling him, and his hand was again teasing her clitoris and she was rubbing against the length of his erection. The next kiss found him steadying her as she raised herself and lowered onto his cock, and then there was a frantic sliding together, and Hermione broke the kiss to push George away from her, forcing him to lay back on the bed as she rode atop him.

He closed his still-glistening eyes, and heard Hermione say very clearly, "Look at me, George." And he did. He watched her undulate, watched her move in long strokes that he thought might kill him, watched her flushed cheeks, her firm breasts, and her swollen lips being captured between her teeth, the way her brown eyes fluttered close, and then opened to lock onto his eyes.

"You are so beautiful, so fucking gorgeous," he gasped, as she came down on him again, calling out his name as she reached orgasm, the tightening pulling him along as well not long after.

-o0o-

There was no more work done that day. George was too spent, too unwilling to let Hermione out of his sight. She was a little unnerved as well, and staying near him as he held her securely felt somehow reassuring. For awhile, they didn't say much, just lay there, arms around each other, legs entwined. Hermione idly brushed the hair back from George's face, inadvertently exposing the hole where his ear had been. Gently, hesitantly, she touched the lower part.

"Does it . . . I mean," she started.

"It doesn't hurt, no. I can't really feel anything," he said, traces of amusement in his subdued voice.

"Can you still hear on that side?" she asked, tracing the edge of the hole. It was odd, she'd never really noticed it before. Of course she was aware that his ear was gone, but with his long hair, it was usually covered.

"Yes. Not as well as before, but it's not too noticeable. Course, I've still got a good one," he responded. George traced a finger down Hermione's arm, stopping at a small scar. "You don't have such easy scars."

"Easy?" she asked, confused.

"Yeah, easy. Not that losing an ear is a good thing, but it's obvious. People saw it and knew I'd been in battle, that I'd been hurt. If I was jumpy or angry or morose, well, I'm missing an ear, aren't I? You, on the other hand, there's no visible mark on you, not one that tells the story. Harry's got his scars, and even Ron does now. But not you."

"Not as such, no. Never thought of it as easy. But I'm different. I'm not like Harry, I wasn't the Chosen One or anything," she said, a bit crisply.

"No, but you're just as injured, Hermione. You are so strong, but you bury the pain and pretend it doesn't exist," he said softly.

"It's over and done with, George. What good does brooding over it do?"

"I don't think you brood. But I do think it still bothers you. And if you don't deal with it, eventually it festers inside of you, like a bad wound. You don't have to talk about it, Hermione," he said, tightening his grip as she moved to pull away, "I just want you to know that you can. That I'm here if you decide to."

Hermione sighed, and rolled to her back. George kept an arm and leg draped over her, but she didn't object. "There isn't much to talk about it. Even if I wanted to, I don't know what to say about it."

"Always so practical, Hermione. If it changes, please talk to me. I know you're still having nightmares."

"So are you," she replied, though without heat.

"So I am. What a sad lot we make," George sighed. "Look, Hermione, about earlier. . ."

"No, George. There's nothing you need to say about it. You aren't using me, unless I'm also using you. Let's just let it be, please."

He nodded, then began playing with a curl of her hair. "I did mean it though. I know you don't think of yourself this way, but you are truly a beautiful witch, Hermione. I don't really know what I'd do without you at this point," he sighed.

Hermione felt both a spreading warmth at his admission, and a tiny piercing of fear. "Well, fortunately for you, I've got no plans to go anywhere anytime soon."

"I'm relieved to hear it," George said, pulling her closer, holding on tightly. "Because I would hate to have to tie you to the bed and keep you as my prisoner."

Hermione snorted with sudden laughter. "I dunno, George, I think you'd rather enjoy that, actually. You've got rather a sadistic kink, haven't you?"

"I suppose it's to my benefit then that you probably wouldn't mind either?" he said, now smiling. "Perfect Prefect Granger, you probably get off on someone having a little authority over you."

"No more than you! In fact, that would probably explain a lot about your misbegotten youth, really," she mused.

"Well, I can tell you one thing for certain that turns me on," George said, placing a kiss on her cheek, and then softly on her lips.

"What's that?" Hermione asked a bit breathlessly, his lips now moving over her neck, his hands sliding up and down her side.

"When you call out my name in just that breathless sort of voice. It's an enormously sexy, you know."

"Is it?" she asked, her hands resting on his shoulders.

"Allow me to demonstrate," he said, and whatever awkwardness that had existed from their previous union was overshadowed by their activities of the rest of the afternoon. They didn't emerge from the bedroom until well past supper-time, and then it was only to eat something and to shower before curling up comfortably with each other and reading together – some muggle book of Hermione's about romance and girls in long dresses – until they felt sleepy. A lovely, perfect evening after an exhausting, confusing day; if only such easy companionship could have gone on.

-o0o-

_A/N - Well, I was (just barely) able to get another update in this weekend. I know I've said before that this is a very organic piece, not subject to a rigorous editing process. That is especially true in this chapter, which I expect will raise more than a few eyebrows. I _had_ thought I knew where this was going, but the route it took surprised even me. Perhaps it shook me as much as I expect others to be shaken. It's worth noting that I did not categorize this as a romance, precisely because it isn't, really. Much as I like George and Hermione and am rooting for them to be together, one thing that has always been clear to me is that this is in no way a conventional relationship. It's gritty, and questionable, and probably not a good idea, really. And I think we can see why; George is still very much in the deep grips of grief. Time helps, but a grief that deep leaves its mark and changes a person. And my own experience is that it never really goes away. Time doesn't heal all wounds so much as inure us to the burden we carry. And George hasn't yet been carrying this burden long enough to be comfortable with it. I don't think I can say that I hope you enjoyed this chapter, but I hope it provoked you some or gave you something to think about. As always, I love to hear your thoughts. Cheers._


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: Same as always. These characters did not magically become mine overnight, to my chagrin. I'm only borrowing them for a bit._

-o0o-

Chapter 9

-o0o-

As August drew nearer, George and Hermione slipped into a pattern of working that didn't allow much time for anything else. The bases were all stocked and used and replaced in a regimented rotation that kept both of them busy. Fortunately, Hermione had gained enough familiarity with them to be capable of constantly brewing one or more in the background as she helped George with the actual product creation. Slowly the stockroom was filling with products and the shelves were being replenished. The pressure that both George and Hermione felt drove them to work harder and longer, but the pace was brutal and left both of them exhausted.

Oddly, busy as they were and as focused on the workroom, the storeroom and the shelves, the world that had previously been populated by just the two of them was rapidly expanding. The lunch with Angelina seemed to be a signal of some sort. As word got round that George Weasley had been seen in public, more people began turning up at the shop, saying hello, wanting to go out with George, inviting him to various places and gatherings.

It seemed to drain him, even just seeing people. He accepted few invitations, but the efforts required to be anything approaching his previous boisterous, friendly, loud self seemed to take a great deal of him. It seemed that by appearing in public, he had been deemed 'better' and everyone seemed so relieved to 'have him back' that few really noticed that George wasn't really himself. Hermione often stayed in the background during these encounters, offering silent support. Sometimes, when she could see that he was flagging, or when someone said something particularly hurtful without realizing it, she would appear and sheepishly interrupt, asking him to assist her with something or other.

He often sagged against her when they were alone, wrapping his arms about her, letting her soothing presence calm his battered soul. Sometimes, he locked the workroom door and did as he'd done the day he returned from lunch with Angelina, setting her on the worktable and kissing her as if he would never have another chance. Hermione asked him once, after he'd buried his head in her shoulder, his posture the picture of misery, why he didn't just keep the strongest wards up, preventing the unannounced entrances. He looked at her with a twisted, bitter smile and asked her how well he could run a shop hiding in the storeroom. Then he asked a question that stuck with her for some time.

"Haven't you realized yet how much of an act we put on? No one wants to buy jokes from blokes who aren't at least a little larger than life."

George seemed to lapse into thoughtfulness, and kept to himself for much of that afternoon. Hermione was confused by his attitude, and relieved when he turned to her that night in bed. He didn't say anything, hadn't really since asking if her dinner was all right. But he turned to her, and she bit her lip. Softly, so softly it made her want to weep, he tucked a curl behind her ear and kissed her forehead.

-o0o-

Besides Hermione, there were only a few people George really tolerated for any length of time; his family, Harry, and Lee Jordan. Gaining some space from his family, being able to grieve as he needed to but wouldn't allow before them had helped a lot. The dinners that Hermione gently nudged him to attend at the Burrow helped. Molly always sent them back loaded with parcels of food, though there was no more apricot marmalade included. Whether Hermione had said something or his mum had remembered, George wasn't sure. He was simply grateful.

Ginny started coming by for a morning or afternoon once or twice a week, offering to help out. The restoration of Hogwarts was ongoing, but at a point that required specialist work, so she had too much free time. Whatever she might have noticed between Hermione and George was overshadowed by the ongoing battles with her mother over whether or not she would be returning to Hogwarts. She complained to whomever was in the workroom about being treated like a child as she helped package products for sale.

Harry and Ron were working to make Grimmauld Place livable, which was considerably easier with a cooperative Kreacher. There was still much to be done though if they were going to be comfortable when their provisional Auror training started in August. They took to dropping by once or twice a week for lunch. George ate with the trio more often than not, which flustered Hermione some. Ron never seemed to notice anything; he was content that his brother was interacting with them, smiling some and even laughing on rare occasions. Ron wanted nothing more than to be reassured his brother would eventually be all right and how that happened wasn't something with which Ron concerned himself.

Harry was a different story. Harry was quieter and more watchful. Hermione could feel his eyes on them when George kissed her forehead before returning early to the workroom, or when she took George's hand during a rough patch of conversation. She caught him frowning when they talked, and more than once she thought Harry was going to ask her what was happening between them. He hesitated, as if there was something he wanted to say to her, but he never did. Hermione was perfectly content with that state of things.

Lee though, he was different. George had shared a dorm with Lee for too long to be able to hide behind a mask of cheerfulness, and Lee didn't demand it. He seemed to be of the opinion that George had reason to grieve, but that holing himself up wasn't going to help. Lee showed up at random, and dragged George out for a drink or dinner. Hermione was grateful to have some time solely for herself. Between the demands of the work, both physical and mental, and the emotional demands of being the primary source of support and comfort for George, she was getting more drained by the day. The ability to simply sit by herself for awhile was exceptionally rejuvenating.

Not that Lee excluded her, by any means; she was always invited along and George tried to cajole her into coming several times. But she felt it was good for them to be away from each other, good for George to see someone else for a change. He usually came home slightly inebriated and always immediately seeking the comfort of their bed, of wrapping himself around her, sometimes of sinking himself in her. Which is how their secret became known to at least one person.

-o0o-

Lee had stopped by earlier than usual, inviting George to go out to dinner with some of the old group, and after a moment of hesitation, George agreed, but immediately asked Hermione to accompany him.

"Please, come along. You know everyone, there's no sense in you staying cooped up here," he said.

"No, thanks, but no. First of all, I had planned to work late finishing the display batches of the Wonder Witch products so that you can build the display and stock it tomorrow. Secondly, I can't tell you how heavenly it would be to have a long soak with a good book, which I can never enjoy when you are about knocking every five minutes to see if I'm done because you're incapable of entertaining yourself for longer than that." Hermione was teasing George, and he grinned in delight.

"Well, if you think soaking in the bath by yourself when you could be enjoying company is fun, who am I to interfere?" George waggled his eyebrows suggestively at her, causing her to roll her eyes, and then he surprised Lee by wrapping an arm around her waist. "Promise me you'll eat something. In fact, I'll go make you a plate so you don't have to put the potion in stasis before bottling it and can just eat while it cools, yeah? Lee, we've got some time, right?"

Lee, eyebrow raised at this solicitous display, glanced at this watch. "Yeah, plenty of time, if we use the apparition point instead of relying on Muggle transport."

George planted his habitual kiss on her forehead before jogging up the stairs, leaving Hermione and Lee alone. She turned a bit pink as he scrutinized her.

"So how does he do, really?" Lee asked quietly.

Hermione shrugged. "Some days are harder than others. On the whole, better now than three weeks ago, which was better than three weeks before that. Worlds away from how he was when he first moved back. You actually get him out of the flat, which is saying something."

"How are you holding up?" Lee asked, head cocked to the side studying her.

She looked up at him with a mix of confusion and surprise. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"It's a simple enough question, Hermione. How're you getting on here? I know it can't be easy, and you've been alone with him most of the time. Sometimes just watching him brood for two hours over a pint of lager is draining enough for me." His voice and face were completely serious

"Oh, well. It's not always easy, no. But I think I help him, which feels good. And really, he's been wonderful to me. I was completely at loose ends, so giving me a place to stay and really engaging work to keep me busy for the present is more than worth it," she said, perhaps a shade too brightly, because Lee shook his head.

"Hermione, you're a clever girl. You need to be careful. For yourself, I mean."

"I'm not sure what that means," she said, her voice sharper than she would have quite liked.

Lee touched her arm. "Calm down. It only means that you need to be sure you don't get lost in him. He can't pull himself out, let alone both of you. So, take care of yourself too. I'm glad he's got someone to look after him that he trusts. But you need that too, yeah?"

Whatever retort might have crossed her lips was cut off by George's reappearance with a covered plate in hand. He set it down gingerly and rested his hand low on her back for a moment, catching Lee's eye. Lee's brow furrowed for a moment, and he suddenly had an inkling of the possibilities here. He'd never seen George behave so tenderly with someone, and that could mean trouble, if Lee was right and not just a horny bastard with his mind in the gutter, as he was so often called.

Pretending he didn't see, he said jovially, "Right then, Hermione's supper is squared away, so let's be off. We've even time for a pre-dinner drink, if you fancy one, mate."

"Yeah, sounds good," George said, already half-wishing he'd agreed to stay home with Hermione. A long soak in the bath, followed by a massage could be sweet for her and lead to all sorts of lovely things. "Don't work too hard, Hermione. I'll see you later." He kissed her forehead and subtly gave her hand a squeeze, which she returned with a small, secretive smile.

"Definitely don't work too hard, Granger. Make sure you have a good soak. It'll give me something interesting to picture while Wood's going on about Puddlemere's nonexistent chances," Lee said with a lascivious wink that made George laugh, though the humor didn't reach his eyes.

"Have a good time, boys," Hermione said with finality, and a shooing gesture, and they were gone, George taking a moment to set the wards so Hermione wouldn't be bothered by unwanted guests.

They walked companionably down the street, Lee casting unobtrusive glances at his friend, and wondering how he'd missed it before. The attitude of his walk, the way he carried his body, the way he'd casually touched Hermione, and the way she'd allowed it. . . it was all adding up to something that Lee wasn't sure he quite liked. But then, George and Hermione were adults. If they wanted to start up something, that was their business, not his. And that was assuming they were starting something; for all Lee knew, they could be shag buddies. It was an arrangement that had worked for him and Mavis Trowling, a former Hufflepuff chaser, for two years now. Hell, for all Lee knew, they were not involved at all, but he didn't really think that was the case. Not that it mattered.

The pair stepped into the Leaky Cauldron and caught Tom's eye. "Firewhiskey, lads? Or something milder?"

"Pint of ale for me, Tom," George called.

"Same," Lee added, taking a seat at a small booth in the back. The drinks were duly brought over and paid for, and the old friends found themselves in a familiar situation.

"So, how're things coming on, then, Georgie?" Lee asked.

He shrugged. "Well enough, I suppose. We've been grinding it out to try and be as ready as possible. Honestly, it's in better shape than when Fred and I originally opened, so I think we'll be all right, but we'll be better off if everything is back to how it was at peak production."

"Right. I was thinking more about you, mate," Lee said dryly.

The hooded, neutral look that often came over George's face when an unpleasant topic arose made an appearance. "Fine, of course. How else would I be?"

"Dunno, a bloody mess because your twin brother and best mate is dead? I know I've been pushing you to get out more, but no one thinks you have to be fine already," Lee chided.

"Lee, we've been over this already. I'm ok, yeah? Not great. But not about to fall apart, so let's drop it," George said, tension in his voice.

"Right. All right. But Georgie, I miss him too, and it's ok for you fall apart around me. I won't tell, yeah?"

The only response was a grunt and George taking a long pull from his tankard. Which Lee took as a positive, all things considered.

"So, how is Hermione doing?" Lee asked casually.

Something in his voice caught George's attention, and he narrowed his eyes some at his friend. "She's hanging in. Tired a lot, from the long hours she's putting in. But she won't listen to me and take an afternoon off or anything." He shrugged, equally casually.

"How are you two getting on?" Lee examined his nails, watching George out of the corner of his eye.

"What's the sudden interest in Hermione anyway?" George asked, feeling a bit thrown. He hadn't considered that someone else might take an interest in her, though now the idea was before him, he couldn't see why not. She was smart as any living being, caring, kind, sweet, a good cook, and fucking gorgeous as could be and damned amazing in bed. A momentary jealousy swept over him as he considered the idea that Lee might be interested and that it could ever be mutual.

"I'm not interested in her, not like that. I am interested in what is going on between you," Lee said bluntly.

"What makes you think something is going on?" George hedged.

"Really, George? I've known you since we were eleven. I'm pretty sure that I know you well enough to know that you don't fawn over witches. You're just awfully solicitous of her for just being a flatmate or employee," Lee stated, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

"Yeah, well, it's hard to explain. She takes care of me, and I guess I try to take care of her. She's pretty amazing. I don't think I'd be here without her. I don't just mean where the shop's at. I mean that I would probably still be locked in the flat subsisting on firewhiskey if she hadn't shown up and stuck around," George said seriously, fiddling with his tankard.

"And what does that mean, then?" Lee asked, leaning forward.

"I don't know. We've never really talked about it," George said truthfully, and deceptively. He drained his tankard and glanced at his battered wristwatch. "Right. What time are we supposed to be there? It's nearly six."

"Shite. Best get a move on then. But don't think we're done discussing this. If you're shagging Granger, I want details," Lee said, only half-jokingly, before finishing his own drink.

-o0o-

George was genuinely chuckling at a dirty joke that Lee had told him when they walked into the trendy restaurant. He heard someone calling for them, "Oi! Weasley, Jordan, over here mates!" and he followed the voices only to stop short when he came face to face with Angelina Johnson seated with their other friends.

Lee heard a softly muttered 'fuck' but had no time to sort it out before a wave of people were upon them. He and George were pulled to the table and settled down amongst those already seated. George had a grimace on his face at being seated next to Angelina. Lee was seated across from them, next to Oliver Wood and Alicia Spinnet. Katie Bell was on their other side with Roger Davies, her current date. Intrigued, Lee kept an eye on the pair before him.

Angelina smiled at George, clearly pleased with being near him. He was polite to her, but Lee noticed a look of resignation in his eyes, and noticed that he winced when she touched him, which she seemed to do with great frequency. That in itself was odd. Lee was frowning, which drew Alicia's attention.

"What's wrong then, Lee?" she asked curiously. He shook off the pensiveness that was overtaking him and reverted to his more outrageous self.

"You still shagging Oliver! I'm desperately trying to console myself and there isn't anything to drink! Where's the waiter? First round's on me then."

Alicia laughed and a hassled waitress appeared, and orders were taken. Lee noticed George grimacing, but his attention was drawn back to the conversation nearest him, and he mentally shrugged and promised himself to keep an eye on the situation.

"So, have you been frightfully busy?" Angelina asked as George set down his beer.

"Yes, practically non-stop since our lunch. Lee's forcibly removed me once or twice, I think just to get me out of Hermione's hair," George said. Only someone who knew him well could have noticed the tension in his voice or the slight grimace as Angelina rested her arm on the chair in such a way that her fingers were brushing his arm.

"Well, maybe I ought to do the same," she said with a tinkling little laugh that grated on George's nerves.

"And how've you been? Any word on call-ups yet?" he asked, leery of lapses in conversation that could be misinterpreted or somehow turned in a direction he wasn't interested in.

"Yes, last week, they asked four of us to do some extra practices, and we're going to work with the reserve squad next week. They'll take two of us, maybe all of us. I'm feeling pretty confident about it. I know that there were Wimbourne scouts at the last session, so there's another avenue as well, I hope."

"That's fantastic, Ange. Well done," he said with a smidgeon of relief. Until she touched slid her fingertips over his arm, and rested them there.

"I'm glad you think so. Listen, I'm so thrilled you're here because I've been wanting to tell you something," she said in a low voice that made him lean in towards her to hear it.

"What's that?" he asked, forcing a tight smile, using the arm she was touching to reach for his pint, which he swallowed quickly as if it had been water.

"What you said that day? About what Fred would want for me? I think you're right. I'm trying to get it together and move forward. Of course, he'll always be my first love, and I miss him dreadfully, but maybe it is time to start opening myself up again." Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she blinked them away and tried to smile.

George's irritation melted a bit. Perhaps he'd misread her body language and had interpreted her touches in the wrong way. Fred had been his brother after all; it would be really odd for Angelina to suddenly cling to him, when they had never had any sort of romantic intentions and hadn't been close recently. She was just lonely and missed Fred. He could certainly sympathize with that.

He smiled at her, a warm, genuine smile, and opened his mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by their waitress waiting to take his order. They ordered another round of beers and their meals, and just as George was turning back to Angelina again, he felt her knee nudge his thigh under the table. Given the way they were seated, it could be no accident.

George caught the waitress' eye and asked the waitress for a whiskey and soda as well. There was no question that he was going to need it, as Angelina gave him a small, private smile, and casually brushed her elbow against his arm again.

Fuck, indeed.

-o0o-

Dinner was a trying affair for George. It would have been without Angelina's coy glances and touches driving him mad; George could only take so much of other people before being fed up and turning morose and somber. It wasn't long before he found himself wishing he were back with Hermione, instead of here in this restaurant with four conversations flowing around him, with evidence that life continued remarkably easily for his friends, despite the marked absence he felt. Not that he wanted them to be as torn up as he was, not that he wanted them to be sad and quiet. Fred would hate that and would love this gathering. It simply highlighted the ways in which he was different than these people now. Maybe someday, he too would find it easy to be loud and friendly and outgoing again, and a gathering of old friends like this would be enjoyable instead of tiresome and provoking.

But that wasn't today, after all, and it was all exacerbated by Angelina's clear intentions. She flirted with him, drew his attention away from others and was always trying to touch him. George didn't think she was this physically demonstrative with Fred at the height of their relationship. And there was nothing he could do. It was obvious to him but not so overt that he really thought it noticeable to anyone else, and how on earth was he supposed to say that he had no interest in dating his deceased twin's ex-lover? The only escape he seemed to find was in the whiskeys the obliging waitress continued to supply him. He did try to pace himself so he wouldn't be totally sloshed, but there was only so much he could do as the night wore on.

Lee kept an eye on George, and noticed the building tension, and the stream of increasingly strong drinks, but didn't want to embarrass him by pointing it out before anyone else. It was with relief that Oliver and Alicia announced their need to depart because of Oliver's early morning call to the pitch. Lee stood as well and jovially called out that he needed Weasley to walk him back, and George stood up and swayed with a very relieved look on his face. Hugs and kisses were exchanged with farewells and Lee watched as Angelina again delivered a kiss that came questionably close to George's lips and saw the wariness in George's eyes. They waved and George swayed and stumbled his way out of the restaurant, with Lee right beside him.

"Had a good night, mate?" he asked casually, as he kept a guiding hand on George's shoulders and steered him towards the street so they could find a taxi. Apparition, even side-along, with George in this state was begging for splinching. They'd have to find their way back to the Leaky and walk down to his flat. Lee thought ruefully that Hermione was going to kill him for letting George get pissed.

"Not at all," George groaned.

"What was so bad then?" Lee asked in a friendly tone.

"Ang'lina," George slurred. "Seems to have forgotten that I'm not Fred."

"What do you mean, mate?" The response was cut off by the approach of an available taxi, which Lee flagged down. "C'mon, Georgie-boy, climb on in, I've got it covered. I'm going to get you back home to Hermione, then."

George smiled happily and nodded eagerly. "Yes, Hermi'ne. Wanna see her. I need Hermi'ne, Lee." He suddenly looked so sad and lost that Lee's heart pinched.

"Tell me about Angelina. Is she coming onto you then?" Lee asked with some curiosity.

George released a sigh. "She thinks Fred was going to marry her. And she's sad. For some reason she thinks I'm a good 'placement."

"Well, you were identical twins," Lee said placidly.

George laughed bitterly. "Not ident'cal anymore. My ear's gone, innit? Just like Freddy." He blinked back tears. "I miss him, Lee."

"I know, mate. I miss him too," Lee soothed.

"I don't like Ang'lina. She liked Fred, not me. She wants me to be Fred. But I'm not Fred," George slurred drunkenly.

"No, you're not Fred. Can't be anyone but Georgie, can you?" Lee sad sadly.

George suddenly sat up from the slump he'd slipped into. "Y'know Fred loved Hermi'ne. Even while he shagged Ang'lina. He fancied Hermi'ne. I fancy Hermi'ne too."

"I'm sure you do. We're going to see her soon," Lee assured him. The conversation, if it could be called that, repeated itself more than once, even through into Diagon Alley. Lee hoped very much that Hermione had hangover potions on hand, because otherwise, George was going to be in a bad way in the morning. He felt awfully guilty about dumping this inebriated George on her and disappearing. Lee helped George enter the shop, and then helped him up the stairs.

The door opened with a bang, and Hermione, who was curled up in an armchair with a book, started quite badly at the sound. By this point, George was leaning heavily on Lee, an arm around his shoulders, pale and swaying terribly.

"Godric, what is wrong?" she asked in trepidation, grabbing her wand, seemingly looking at George for some sign of trouble. "Were you attacked?"

"No, but I think it was a rough night. He drank a fair amount. He's just soused, really," Lee said calmly.

George was smiling again, as Hermione approached them. "Hermi'ne! Gods, I missed you so much." He unwrapped himself from Lee and stumbled to Hermione, wrapping her up in a lopsided, swaying hug of pure relief. He sighed into her hair, and seemingly completely oblivious to Lee's presence, planted a kiss on her temple, and then her cheek, and then her neck. Hermione's eyes went wide, and she glanced quickly at Lee, who was pretending not to notice.

"Right, George, let's get you to bed," Hermione said with a cheerful voice, though her forehead was creased with worry.

"Oh, gods yes. I want to take you to bed, it's all I could think about when she was touching me, how much I wanted to be in bed with you," he said, his voice only somewhat muffled by her hair. Hermione blushed; Lee clearly heard every word and was still there. Why on earth was he still there?

"George, we still have company," she said, a bit desperately.

"Don't care. Want you," George mumbled, running his hand down her side, grazing her breast. There was no question about the intimacy of their relationship with gestures like that.

Finally Lee spoke up. "Hermione, do you have hangover potion about?"

She was fighting the urge to cry with vexation and worry over how George was behaving in front of Lee, and that he was still there and asking questions. "Er, no, I think George used the last of it and I haven't brewed any more yet."

"It's fine. I've got some back at my place. I'll just pop over and get it, yeah? You can, uh, put George to bed while I'm gone," he said, adding thoughtfully, "I'll be back in half an hour."

Lee let himself out, and Hermione sighed in relief, able to turn her attention back to George, who was still nuzzling her neck. She twisted a bit, and he blinked at her owlishly.

"Right, George. Let's get you to bed then," she said without rancor.

"You're so beautiful, Hermi'ne. Sexy. I love your breasts," he said happily, as she helped him stumble into the bedroom.

"Thanks, George," she said dryly. She wanted to be angry with him, but she wasn't. Hermione had a guess about what had happened, and she felt more resigned than anything. Once she got him into the room, she began helping him undress. "How're you feeling?"

"Room's spinning. You have a pretty mouth," he said, patting her head. "I like when you kiss me. I like being 'round you."

"I like to kiss you too, and I like being around you. Now come on, step out of these trousers," Hermione said in a brisk tone.

"Ooooh, you're being bossy. I like when you let me be in charge, but it's sexy when you're bossy. Y'know Fred used t'have fantasies 'bout you like that." George grinned at her.

"Did he? How lovely. Come on, George, please help me here," she said as patiently as possible. He obliged her and stepped out of the trousers. "Good, thanks. Now are you ready to get into bed?"

"You're coming aren't you? Bed's awful without you. I need you Hermi'ne," he said, suddenly sad, his face fallen, lips pouting just a tad.

"Yes, of course, George, just get into bed," she said in a soothing, cajoling tone of voice.

"How come you're still dressed?" he asked.

"I'm ready for bed," she said. "You're too drunk to do much of anything with me tonight. Please George, get in. I'll lay with you a bit, yeah?"

He nodded and crawled onto the bed, and Hermione slid in next to him. He immediately snuggled around her, and sighed as his entire body seemed to relax in her presence.

"I'm glad you're home too," she said quietly, resting in his warm embrace despite his drunkeness. One of George's hands slid under the tank top she was wearing to rest on her breast, and the other rested low on her hip, but he didn't really try anything else, seeming content, for now, to simply be with her. "Was dinner difficult?"

"Awful. Don't want to leave you again," he said, his voiced a bit muffled by her hair.

"That's sweet, but you'll get terribly bored stuck with me forever, you know," she said lightly.

"You like me, don't you?" he asked suddenly.

"Of course I do," she said uncertainly.

"You fancy me and not Fred, right? You wouldn't rather be shagging him?" George asked, sounding afraid and unsure at the same time. She twisted so that she could face him. His mouth was turned down, his eyes filled with pain. Hermione softly cupped his cheek in her hand, tempted to kiss those sad lips.

"Oh, George, of course I fancy you. I never seriously considered shagging Fred, and it's not him I sleep with at night or think about while I'm away. Where on earth is this coming from?"

"It's just, I dunno. Fred wanted to be with you, but I am instead. And Angelina wants me to be Fred. Half the time my family sees him instead of me. Even now people still think of me as half of him. But I can't be Fred, Hermi'ne. I've never been Fred." He looked at her searchingly, and she ran her thumb lightly over his lips.

"Remember what you told me? That it was me who you were with, wanted to be with? Well, it's _you_, George. Only you; only George," she said softly.

"But why?" he asked, his voice filled with pain. "Why me?"

"I don't know, not in words I can easily find," she said. "Maybe because you need me, I don't know. But it's nothing you need to worry over right now. Aren't you tired?"

"Not really," he said, moving his hand back to her breast, running his thumb in teasing circles over her nipple.

"George, really, I'm not sure this is a good idea," she said. "Lee's going to be back soon with a hangover potion for you. Don't want him to walk in on us shagging, do you?"

"Bugger Lee, I don't care," George said, kissing her neck, biting at her earlobe.

"No, George," she said a bit more sharply. "I'm not shagging you while you are pissed."

Immediately, he looked contrite, and slid his hand from beneath her shirt. "I'm sorry."

Hermione took pity on him. "It's fine, really it is. Just not tonight. Maybe in the morning, if you're feeling well enough, all right?"

"Promise?"

"Yes," she said, just a knock sounded at the door. Hermione slid out of the bed and opened it up. Lee silently handed her a bottle filled with the blue potion and quirked an eyebrow up at her. "Thanks, Lee. I'll come make some tea in a few minutes, okay? Will this help him sleep at all?"

"No, but adding a few drops of dreamless sleep potion will and it won't be dangerous."

"Do you mind? There is some in the loo, green and purple bottle." Lee disappeared and returned shortly with the bottle. He added a careful amount and handed it back to her. "Thank you. I'll be right out." He nodded and turned away.

George was still laying where she left him, eyes closed. He opened them a crack when she climbed onto the bed, potion in hand. "Hermi'ne, I don't feel so good."

"I know, sweetie. Here. Lee brought this over, it'll help. And then you can sleep." George sat up enough to swallow the potion, with a grimace.

"And you'll let me shag you senseless when I wake up?" he asked, sounding both more lucid and more drowsy.

Hermione chuckled softly. "Trust you to remember that bit. Of course I will."

"Lay down with me, please," he asked. Hermione laid down, taking him into her arms, smoothing his hair back until he was breathing deeply and evenly. Then she carefully untangled herself and kissed his forehead before slipping out and joining Lee.

-o0o-

Lee handed her a hot cup of tea, shrugging at the expression on her face. "I took the liberty. I thought you might be a few minutes."

"Thank you," she said simply, curling up in one of the armchairs. Lee settled himself on the couch and for a moment there was silence, which Hermione nervously broke. "I'm sure it looks strange . . ." she said and trailed off.

Lee waved a hand. "Hermione, I'm far from being a prude. The appearance of it isn't a concern for me. What is going on between you, exactly?"

Hermione flushed and bit her lip. "I don't know."

"Ok, right. Let me try a simpler question. Are you shagging?" She nodded, looking away from him. "Right. How long have you been shagging?"

"Not long after I moved in," she admitted.

"Is it just a flatmates with benefits situation?" Lee asked.

"No, not exactly." Hermione set down her cup of tea and took up fiddling with the hem of her tank top, waiting something to occupy herself with, to avoid having to look George's friend in the face.

"Are you dating?" he asked bluntly.

"We've never discussed it," she said helplessly.

"What does that mean?" Lee questioned, surprised to hear an echo of George's words from earlier.

Hermione sighed and slumped a bit in her chair. "Damned if I know. It wasn't supposed to happen. None of this."

Lee had been concerned for his friend, primarily. But the witch before him looked sad and lonely and troubled too, and his words of warning to her earlier rang mockingly through his head. He knew instantly that she would be all alone in this, that she wouldn't tell her closest friends or that they wouldn't understand if she did.

He cleared his throat. "You care for him."

"Of course I do. He's my friend," she said automatically.

"More than a friend."

"I shouldn't," she whispered. "It's wrong. He . . . he's better, but . . . it's a bad idea."

"Oh, well, appears you've got that sorted, then. Easy as that, is it?" Lee said sardonically.

"You don't understand. It started off as a physical thing, a distraction. He was so upset, and I was rocking him and then I kissed him. I didn't mean to, I wasn't thinking. But he kissed me back and then, well. Things happened I never intended. When he asked me to move in, I said that we needed some definition. I expected things to stop, and they did for awhile. But then they started up again, and I didn't stop it. I encouraged it."

"And somewhere along the way you started falling for him," Lee sighed. Hermione nodded miserably.

"But he's so broken, Lee. You don't see it, you don't understand. I don't think he can feel that way about me." Her voice was resigned, not bitter.

"I think you're wrong," Lee said softly. "He needs you. He knows it. I watched him today. He's never been so careful of someone else, even Fred."

"I know he cares for me. It's just that I'm not sure it's enough. There are times he's so gentle, it makes me want to cry, and then there are other times. . . " she trailed off pensively, a frown on her face.

"He doesn't force you?" Lee tensed up. Hermione looked up, startled.

"No! Merlin, no, of course not. It's just there are times when he doesn't even see me, or that he's just using my body as a distraction or coping mechanism. It's all right, I've used him too. But that's not a relationship. And at some point, he'll be better. Never the same as before, but better. And he'll resent me for knowing how he was. I'll be a reminder of these days," she said. It was said without rancor, but the look on her face was so breath-takingly sad that Lee had to look away.

He thought for a moment, sipping his tea for want of something to do, finally shaking his head. "No, Hermione. You're not giving him enough credit and you aren't so stupid. If that were inevitable, you wouldn't still be here."

"Aren't I? I have no idea what I'm doing here. I can't leave though," she said in a low voice.

"Because he needs you. Hermione, maybe he doesn't see it completely yet, but he's falling for you. You aren't just some bird. I've seen him with Angelina. She's practically throwing herself at him and he's horrified by it. It's why he's so pissed tonight, she was there. It's you he wants to be with. Just give him some time to figure it out."

Hermione shrugged tiredly. "Maybe. Maybe I'm doing more harm than good."

Lee leaned forward. "Are you happy with him?"

Hermione looked at him, startled, then smiled a soft smile and shook her head. "Yes. I am. When it's just us, yes."

"There you are then. It's worth fighting for," Lee said. "But you need to talk to someone about things. Keeping it a total secret isn't a good idea. You can't let it build up, or eventually you'll explode and George won't have any idea why."

"Absolutely not," Hermione said adamently. "That would just put pressure on him, and he doesn't need it."

"So I'm the only person who knows about you two?" Lee asked, knowing already what the answer would be before she nodded. "Well, then you'll have to confide in me, Granger. I'm not going to tell anyone. But if you get to feeling this down and desperate again, or if you need help with him, or need to be alone for awhile, then owl me."

"You're his friend, Lee. It's kind of you, but -" Hermione started to say.

Lee cut her off. "Yes, I am. Best mate. But that doesn't mean I can't be your friend too, not when you need one so much. Mind, you'll have to put up with a number of inappropriately lewd jokes, but if you're fucking George, I expect that's nothing new."

-o0o-

_A/N: Well, this is complicated, isn't it? I remember how physically draining it was to be around people a few weeks into mourning. You're feeling better, but still nothing like your former self and people are often so happy to see you out and about that they don't remember that you are still grieving. No one means to be unkind, but they often say unintentionally cruel or hurtful things, not realizing how deeply grieved you still are. There are only a few 'safe' people, and being a 'safe' person is a soul-wearying task. Anyone who can abide with someone deeply in mourning without adding to their pain is an angel on earth, but it's a difficult position to be in. As more people begin filtering in more regularly, I think the secret is going to be harder and harder to maintain, not to mention the toll that all of this is taking on Hermione. I hope you've enjoyed this one, I had some fun with Lee. I always enjoy hearing from you lot, especially when it comes to the deeper questions - is Hermione accepting her feelings or self-sabotaging? Is her assessment correct? Is there hope of a functioning relationship? How is George really doing? Does he rely too much on Hermione? Cheers, all.  
_


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: These characters are not my original creation, and no copyright infringement is intended by utilizing them in this little story._

-o0o-

_Chapter 10_

-o0o-

George woke with a headache, a feeling of disorientation. He had only vague memories of returning to the flat, but remembered Lee being with him, with a sinking feeling. Hermione wasn't in bed, but the depression in the pillow beside him seemed to indicate that she had slept there; that was somewhat reassuring. If he'd been wholly inappropriate, she would probably have slept in her own bedroom.

Before he could get out of bed or even ascertain what time it was – the light streaming through the window indicated later than his normal rising – Hermione was there, a cup of tea steaming in her right hand and a welcome blue bottle of potion in her left. George sat up, scooted over a bit as she set both items on the nightstand and perched on the bed. She didn't look angry, anyway, but George couldn't quite shake the feeling that he'd done something he oughtn't to have done.

Hermione brushed his hair away from eyes gently. "How're you feeling then?" she asked in a kind voice.

His throat was dry. "A bit like I was hit with a strong stunner. Which from the bits I remember is probably better than I ought to be feeling right now. Did you give me a hangover potion last night?"

"Yes, Lee brought one over. There's the rest, he said you'd probably need some this morning. And some tea, though water might serve you better."

"Tea's lovely, thank you," he said, reaching for the potion and quickly swallowing some, sighing in relief as his headache receded and the lethargic feeling faded. He then took up the tea, blowing on it to cool it and to buy some time to remember any more from the previous night. Hermione watched him complacently, and he finally gave up the futile effort. "Right, I don't remember much. I sort of remember Lee bringing me home, and I remember having far too much to drink. That's about it."

"Mmm, yes. Lee said that Angelina was there and that she seemed to have a deleterious effect on you," Hermione said.

"Too early and too little time into the potion to use such big words, Hermione my sweet. I get the gist though. Yeah, 's fair to say being around her isn't good for me at present." George winced at the memory of her practically pawing him. "So Lee brought me back then? Good mate."

Hermione studied him and nodded. "He is a good mate to you. He agreed to keep mum about our current arrangement, at least until we figure things out."

George closed his eyes, and let his head fall back against the wall. "I let something slip? Fuck, I'm sorry Hermione."

"No, I don't think you said anything generally, but Lee rather got the idea when you starting groping me and talking about taking me to bed. I would be angry, but really, I think it was good for me to talk to someone. Confession cleansing the soul and all that." Hermione smiled, though her eyes looked a little sad.

George opened his eyes and really looked at Hermione, as he hadn't done in awhile. She was still thin, too thin, really, a carryover from their days on the run. There was a weariness in the droop of her shoulders, and shadows under her eyes that he realized had been there a lot of late. She was smiling at him, but it didn't reach her eyes, and his heart clinched to think he had caused or contributed to this tired pain.

"Hermione, is there something you could say to him that you can't say to me? I would hope you could tell me anything." George reached out to touch her hand, but saw that she closed her eyes when he did.

"I don't know, George," she sighed. "I suppose there are many things that I'd like to say to you, but I don't know how to say them. I don't know if the timing is the best."

"Hermione?" George asked, feeling an upwelling of concern, even panic as he looked at the witch in front of him, whom he'd come to rely on.

"Oh, please, George, don't look so worried. I'm not going anywhere, yeah? It's just that it was good to talk to someone else for a change, someone who knows you so well and cares about your well-being. So I'm not upset about Lee knowing, but I do think you ought to be careful of how much you drink if you're going to be bringing people round the flat. I don't fancy having that awkward conversation again." Her tone was prissy at the end, but there was a look in her eyes he couldn't quite place.

"Are you happy here?" he asked her abruptly, vaguely surprised at the question himself. It just seemed, suddenly, to be very important. "I mean to say, I'm very glad you are here. I want you to be here, but if you're unhappy . . ." his voice trailed off, unable to say aloud the words that could release her.

Hermione blinked for a moment, then leaned forward to take the cup from his hands and set it aside. That done, she wriggled herself into a position so that she was straddling George's lap. She ran her fingers through his long hair, before cradling his head in her hands and drawing his face to hers for a languid, long kiss. George returned the kiss, but took her face in his hands when they broke off and raised an eyebrow at her.

"That's not an answer to my question, delightful though it may be," he said, in a voice as serious as she had ever heard him use.

"Yes, George. Yes I'm happy here. No I don't want to be anywhere else or with anyone else," she finally said, looking as if he had forced her to speak.

"Then why are you so sad, Hermione? I see it. I notice it, maybe not as often as I should, but I do," he said softly.

"Why are you?" she countered. "I miss him too, not the same way you do, of course not. But I miss him. And the person you used to be. I miss the person I used to be, and Harry and Ron and everyone. In some ways, we're better people or we will be. But there are things I miss, George. I miss my parents. I miss having a family and a history and someone to love me and be proud of me."

"Hermione, I love you," he said softly, tucking a curl behind her ear, only to have his hand shoved away, to find her pushing angrily off of him. "Wait, Hermione!" He was still untangling himself from the bedclothes as she was halfway to the door. At his command, she whirled around, eyes flashing, her body visibly shaking.

"No!" she hissed. "Do not say that to me, George. Don't. Not now. Not like that. You don't love me, and certainly not in the way my parents did. Don't try to soothe me."

"What the hell, Hermione? I don't understand," he said, feeling a rising anger, but anger that was held in check by confusion.

"Don't use my parents that way. Don't use me that way," she said, her voice sharp.

"Use you what way?" George asked, his face bewildered.

"Use my affection. Don't tell me you love me when you don't mean it. It's not fair to me, George," she said, her voice cracking and tears welling up in her eyes.

He stepped closer to her. "What makes you think I don't mean it?"

"You don't know what you feel for me. Maybe you do love me, but you don't know what it is or what it means. I don't know either. This thing between us, it's not normal. We can't go on just using each other."

George looked as if she'd smacked him. "You think I'm just using you?"

"I think you care for me, but yes, I think you are using me as a distraction. As a way to cope with Fred dying, as a way to fill your loneliness. And I do it too, George. But it can't go on forever this way. It's not healthy for either of us. And we are keeping secrets. Lee knows now, and Harry's not far behind. Other people will start to suspect something too, and what are we going to say?"

"How long has this been bothering you?" he asked quietly, folding his arms over his chest, looking a little defensive.

Hermione sighed. "I don't know."

"This is what you discussed with Lee?" he asked, his mouth set.

"Partly," she admitted. The anger was seeping out of her, but she had the feeling that George was only just beginning to get angry.

"Did it ever occur to you to talk to me about this? To ask me how I felt?" he asked quietly, but with a dangerous edge to his voice.

"No. How could I? I see how hard it is for you every day, George. What am I supposed to say? By the way, when you were fucking me and talking about seeing your brother's dead body for the first time, I felt a bit disturbed?"

"So now I'm too fragile to hold a bloody conversation? Really, Hermione, I thought you were one of the few people to understand that I'm not fragile, I'm not bloody breaking down," he said, sounding hurt, and angry.

"You're not that far from it though, George!" Hermione cried out, throwing her hands in the air. "Look at last night. I understand how uncomfortable it must be to be around Angelina, the way she treats you like a replacement for her ex-boyfriend. But you could just tell her you aren't interested. Or move away from her. Or not see her to begin with. Instead, you drink yourself stupid."

"I can't do that, it's not that simple, Hermione," George said wearily. "And I'm not trying to use you. I'm more sorry than I can say if I have made you feel that way for an instant. It's just not always easy to talk about him. Even to you." He ran a hand over his face, through his hair, a distracted gesture he never noticed that Hermione had picked up on.

That gesture deflated her. "I just don't understand us, George. It scares me. It frightens me how much you struggle. You do so well, you are coping better than I could imagine, but I'm afraid I'm just a replacement for him, the way Angelina wants you to be. You told me last night you can't be Fred, and George, neither can I."

"I don't want you to be him," George said fiercely.

"What do you want for me to be?" she asked wearily. "I'm afraid I can't live up to what you need."

"I don't want you to be anything but what you are. Who you are. The person who sees me for who I am, as George. Not as the remaining half of Fred-and-George."

"But what are we? What are we doing?" she whispered. "Friends and flatmates don't do what we're doing. What are we? Are we lovers? Are we just shagging? Are we in a relationship? I don't know, George. And it matters. What kind of love exists in this mess matters. Don't you see why you can't say that to me right now?"

George released a long sigh. "Yes, all right. But what does a label do for you, Hermione? What does it mean? Can't it just be enough that we're here together, trying to support each other?"

She shook her head, making her curls bounce. "I don't know. It frightens me. I'm already too deep into this, George. I don't know what I feel, but it's well beyond friendship, and I'm not sure I see any good ending to this. I'm afraid."

George made a noise of impatience. "Stop looking ahead. You don't even go in for divination. The problem with labels, Hermione, is that they are limiting. We're a bit past dating, don't you think?"

Hermione half-chuckled, despite herself. "Yes, probably jumped right over that."

"So what is the point of trying to define it then? To make you feel like you can plot the course of the relationship? If I call you my girlfriend, what changes?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe I'd feel more secure."

"It just gives you a false sense of security. There are never guarantees when you're dealing with another person. Say we married each other tonight. That's no promise that I would continue to feel strongly and caringly about your or vice versa. I could promise you I'd be faithful, but there is nothing stopping me from cheating on you, not really. You just want to imagine that there is." George sighed and raised an eyebrow at Hermione. "I'm not like that, Hermione, that's not what I do. If all you're doing is trying to determine where we'll end up by sticking a name on this, you're setting up for failure. What you call a relationship is far less important than how you exist in it, Hermione."

"But do you see where I'm coming from?" she implored.

"Merlin, yes! Of course I do! You think I'm not terrified too? You think I don't look at you hard at work and pray you won't leave me to manage this on my own? You think I don't hold you and wonder how Ron could be so stupid as to let you go? You think I don't worry every day that you'll decide today's the day you've had enough of me and walk out?"

"Really, George? You feel that way?" Hermione looked at him searchingly, as if to determine whether or not he was placating her.

"Of course I do. What is it you are scared of?" he asked with a gentle, understanding tone.

"That you'll leave me, and I'll be completely alone again. That I'll fall in love with you and you'll get stronger and better and resent me for knowing how bad it was for you. That I'm only a habit you've acquired, that you'll not need me anymore. A million things." She wiped her treacherous eyes, willing her tongue to cease before all her deepest fears were spilled out to him.

Gently, George closed the distance that had been between them, and wrapped himself around her, rocking her slowly. "What a pair we make," he mused. "You are more important to me than I can put into words, Hermione. You have no idea how much I need you. Can't this be enough for now? Can't we just keep being here for each other and work on figuring it out later?"

Hermione simply nodded, feeling wrung out, overly tired, not wishing to fight it any longer. It went against her nature, like every other bloody aspect of this relationship had done, but what George said made sense to her. She had said to Lee the night before she saw no way that this could work, and it was true enough if they forced it into some sort of definition, which came complete with expectations. Day by day was perhaps the only way they would have a chance to make this work. She didn't like it, but for the moment, knowing what she knew now, knowing that George had some investment in her other than as a warm body, she could live with it.

"On one condition," she said firmly.

"What's that?" asked the prankster and former Hogwarts bookie.

"You don't tell me you love me until you can explain exactly how you mean it. I can't handle that."

"Right. No declarations of love and adoration. Noted. And you can talk to Lee if you need to, but please talk to me too." He felt her nod against his chest. They stood there, holding each other for some time, until George finally pulled back and kissed her forehead. "Much as I hate to be prosaic, I really need to eat something."

"Right. Of course. I'll just get breakfast ready. You should probably take a shower," she said, wiping her eyes, and giving him a watery smile. He kissed her forehead again, and she slipped from the room.

-o0o-

Things were awkward between them for a short time, but truthfully, with the first of August a mere handful of days away there wasn't time for it. They were back in their comfortable pattern quickly enough, the buffer of work easing the tension and strain brought about by the events following that evening. Not all was negative though; Hermione found herself feeling more certain and secure than she had done before. George seemed to make a greater effort with her to show more affection, to be more present and less distracted. Hermione noted the ways in which he was considerate of her, how he 'took care of her,' as Lee had put it.

And there again, something had changed for the better. Lee owled daily, a note for both George and Hermione. True to his words, most of his notes were lewd jokes, which made her smile, grateful for the gesture. She sent him a brief note, outlining the discussion she and George had had the morning following, and was relieved to receive a serious response from Lee. Simply having an option to talk with someone seemed to lift a weight from her, which is probably why she accepted Lee's invitation to lunch.

They were still working hard, but the store looked much as it had before the war and the stockroom; if not at full capacity, it was certainly at a point that would see them through the first few weeks. George was still driven to make things as close to perfect as possible in the three days they had left, and with a quiet passion that Hermione felt was probably due to his mixed feelings about reopening without his brother. She had hesitated when Lee appeared insisting on a lunch partner, but Lee announced he wasn't going alone so they'd better decide which of them it was to be, and George pushed Hermione towards Lee gently and smiled a genuine smile and she shrugged her shoulders in acceptance.

"Right, that's settled, where to, Hermione? And did you want us to bring you something back, lovely?" Lee asked with a flirtatious wink at his best mate.

George simply rolled his eyes. "Flattered, mate, really, but taken at present. And yes, if you don't mind, Hermione, whatever you get will be fine. There's galleons in the till if you need them."

"You'll have to give me about five minutes, Lee. I need to wash up and change. Promise I won't be long, and as for where, I've no preference whatsoever. Whatever you're in the mood for, this is your grand idea, after all." Hermione disappeared quickly up the stairs.

Lee leaned back against her work table, and crossed his arms as he regarded George. "So how've you been, mate?"

"How much as Hermione told you?" he asked wryly.

"Eh, 's not like that, we don't send gossipy letters back and forth discussing your mental state. She's very loyal to you, doesn't share a great deal of information. Just mentions a few things to me. Said you lot had quite the discussion after our little night out last week."

George sagged a bit. "Yeah, I s'pose so. She told you what's going on with us?" Lee nodded, but didn't speak. "It's just. . . I dunno," he sighed.

"Complicated?" Lee prompted, and George nodded his agreement. "Well, I can see that, certainly. Are you interested in her? Or just shagging her?"

"It started off as shagging. Now, it's something else entirely. Interest isn't the right word, it's more than just a passing fancy. I want her in my life, simple as that."

"As what?"

"That's the complicated part then, innit?" George asked, an eyebrow raised, lips twitching into a smile despite himself. "As something much more than a friend," he added more seriously.

"Right. Seems you've still got some figuring out to do, haven't you? You will have to do that some time, you know," Lee said cheerfully. George was prevented from responding by Hermione's reappearance. She'd changed from her frayed old clothes she wore for potion brewing into something more flattering, and took her hair from a messy ponytail into a neat chignon. Both men eyed her appreciatively, making her blush.

"Shall we be off then?" she asked, turning towards Lee.

"Just a mo' Hermione," George said, tugging her over to him, and pulling her in for a hug. With a wink at her, he leaned in and kissed her on the lips, instead of his usual kiss to the forehead. She looked flustered, but allowed it, and with a ruffle of his hair, she walked quickly out of the workroom, Lee trailing with an amused look on his face.

"Well, if you don't mind a spot of apparition, Hogsmeade is probably less crowded than Diagon. And we've a few options there, depending on your preference," Lee stated.

A mischievous look crossed Hermione's face. "Oh, a nice spot of tea and sandwiches sounds lovely, Lee! Clever of you to think of Madame Puddifoot's."

He visibly grimaced. "I was thinking more along the lines of the Three Broomsticks, but if you prefer -"

"Do I look like the type to enjoy Madame Puddifoot's? I was having you on, the Three Broomsticks is fine," Hermione said.

Lee grunted. "I fear George may be having a bad effect on you, Granger. Meet you out front?" She nodded and in moments, they were in Scotland, outside the pub. Lee opened the door and gave a mocking little bow and Hermione entered.

Rosmerta greeted them cheerfully, and ushered them to a booth, rattling off her daily specials between inquiries into their well-being and conversation with other patrons. Lee's perpetual air of amusement helped keep Hermione from being flustered by the attention and noise and it wasn't long before Rosmerta deposited their tankards of her oak-matured mead and promised their meals would be out soon.

"Guess I've spent too much time alone with George, because this sort of crowed actually intimidates me some," Hermione said mildly.

"Don't you go over to the Weasley's fairly often though?" Lee asked, sounding puzzled.

"Yes, but since the battle, it's never as full or as yet quite as loud and disorganized as it used to be. Getting more like it was before, but I don't think it'll ever really be the same. If nothing else, Bill is married, Charlie's off in Romania, Harry and Ron are living elsewhere, and the twins . . ." Hermione's voice faded out and she gave a little half-shrug and Lee nodded.

"Right, of course. You don't spend much time there, though, do you?"

She shook her head. "Not really, no. I mean, we go at least once a week for dinner, and George will pop by a bit more often to see his mum for a bit. But we've been fairly busy, you know."

"Between the stock and the shagging, I wonder when you manage your sleep," he said dryly, making her choke a bit on her mouthful of mead and look around furtively. "Oh, honestly, Granger, do you think we'll be overheard? Who would care?"

"I don't know, but it's not something I particularly want broadcast about, if that's not a problem for you," she said shortly.

"Why is that? Why do you need to keep it such a secret? I find it hard to believe I'm the only one who has figured something out, and I was wondering before George blabbered on about you and felt you up in front of me, for the record," Lee said sternly.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know. It's just that people knowing makes things more complicated, more . . . more . . ."

"Real?" Lee supplied.

"Yes, that's it, I suppose. We don't know what we're doing, not really. Just taking it a day at a time. If other people know, it confuses things more," Hermione said uncomfortably.

"Tell other people to bugger off," Lee offered.

"That might work for you, but there will be questions. And concern about whether this is a good idea, given, well, everything."

Lee took a big swig from his tankard, then shook his head. "I don't see that. I think you've helped George. And if you are making him happy and are happy together, I don't see the problem."

Hermione slumped a bit, sighing. "I know you think that, but not everyone will. I'm not sure I think that. George isn't himself right now, he's very vulnerable. Starting a relationship now isn't going to be universally approved."

"Granger, if you're holding out for universal approval, you'll be waiting a very long time. It seems to me that you haven't figured this out for yourself and you're just telling me again what you are afraid of. And I'm not the one you need to tell, love."

Hermione fiddled with her fork. "I know, Lee. It's just that I can't talk to him about this, he doesn't understand. His family is all I've got left. I'm afraid to lose them."

Lee frowned. "I don't understand. Why would you?"

"I don't know. It's going to sound stupid, I'm sure. But everyone thought Ron and I would be together, and I don't know how they'll react to me being with George. I know Molly will be upset that we are living together without some sort of commitment. I am afraid that someone will think I'm taking advantage of him. And once they know, well, it opens it up to judgment and everyone will have an opinion If we don't work out, I don't know what happens."

"Have you considered stopping things? Backing off?" Lee asked.

"Yes, but I never go through with it," she said softly.

"Then I think you understand the important bit, Granger. Now then, we've thoroughly exceeded my limits for serious conversation. Best to get onto something entirely inappropriate before my reputation is forever ruined," he said with a wink.

"Of course, can't have that," Hermione said, a little relieved to change the subject. "How're you getting on with WWN then?"

"Brilliantly, of course. I'm happy enough with the Quidditch sideline reports, but I'd like to move up to commentary. A sight more interesting, that," Lee responded with a shrug.

"Seeing anyone?" Hermione asked, feeling a little self-conscious for not knowing.

Lee's flashed a wide grin and wink at her. "Getting bored, are you? I've gone out a time or two with a delectable shop assistant from Gladrags, but nothing serious. Still working on getting Millthwap from the Harpies to go out with me. Now there is a witch who can handle a broomstick."

"Quite," Hermione said quellingly, to Lee's laughter.

"Speaking of delectable shop assistants, is Verity coming back? I took her out once, she was a lark. Likes a laugh, she does."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, she'll be round tomorrow to help finish pricing all the merchandise. Just part-time at first though, until George has a sense of how sales will go. She seems nice enough."

"She can be a bit chatty, but I expect you'll largely be in the back. Does she know about you and George?"

"No. I'm not sure she even knows I live above the shop," Hermione commented idly, pushing the remains of her food about on the plate.

"Well, you watch yourself with George around her. As I said, she's quite chatty. Not one to keep secrets, like," Lee said seriously.

"Thanks for the warning. Shall we order something for George then? I think I'm ready to get back, and there is plenty to be done."

"Oi, you can't be tired of me already, Granger! What a blow to my ego!" he said.

"It's so overly inflated I think it could weather that and more," Hermione said dryly. Then she shyly reached across the table and squeezed Lee's hand. "Thank you, Lee. For everything. It helps."

He returned the gesture and said in a kind voice, "Anytime, Hermione."

-o0o-

George was not much for thinking. Certainly moreso than Fred had been, but that wasn't saying much. They were good planners and excellent inventors and shrewd businessmen, but simply sitting down and reflecting was not in their nature. George was fast on his feet, quickly analyzing a situation before him and reacting to it. When it came to the store and their plans and their inventions, they bounced off of each other, throwing out idea after idea to see what might stick or be improved on. Thinking didn't you get very far, in George's opinion. He did try not to be too rash, often holding back Fred for a few seconds to better assess a situation, but thinking only slowed you down, ate away at your nerve. Thinking only made you imagine problems that didn't have to be there or could be dealt with later. In short, to George, thinking equaled worrying, which led to brooding.

In school, he'd felt his view was pretty well held up by watching his younger brother and his friends. Ron was a good strategist, but when he started thinking too much, he became moody and jealous and lashed out at his friends. Harry was always thinking and always brooding about something or other. Right, to be fair, he'd had something worth worrying over, George reckoned wryly, but still, he'd been that way long before the prophecy came to light. And Hermione, well, she'd been a right bundle of nerves all throughout, and all she ever did was think or revise. Thinking paralyzed her, made her over-consider, made her try to find an answer for every possible problem in advance, lest she have to think on her feet and be caught standing still. Oh, she'd loosened up some over the year they'd spent away, she'd had to with nothing to guide them and logic getting them nowhere. She was clever, and it had helped, and she'd learned the hard way that books and knowledge only take you so far in life.

Nevertheless, she was doing it again in regards to their relationship. George supposed it was her nature, which was simply fundamentally different from his own. Nothing wrong with that, so long as they could manage a balance without constant harping or rowing, as she and Ron had been unable to do. Still, she'd been more than accommodating of his desire to avoid pinning down their relationship to something formal. Maybe he was rubbing off on her.

Or maybe the opposite was true, because since their discussion the morning after that disastrous night, George had caught himself thinking. Not that he'd reached any real conclusion; he couldn't find fault with his logic. Hermione was right that on paper, as written, there wasn't much to recommend this relationship or that would make someone think it had a shot at long-term prospects. The pair of them were an unlikely match, because of the differences in their nature. The truth was that they had been brought together by an odd set of circumstances. They hadn't fancied each other, they hadn't carefully cataloged the others good qualities or weighed out the balance of a relationship. They had fallen into bed together, and were both lonely. Not the most promising of beginnings, George would admit it.

But there had been a change, a gradual one. The fear of being alone had changed into a fear of not being with Hermione. The pleasure of being able to talk about Fred freely had morphed into a desire to share him with her, the secrets that had existed only between the two of them, the relationship they'd shared. The gratitude for quality help in the shop had turned into a real appreciation of her brilliance, which he knew was mutual. Somewhere in there he'd actually begun to really know Hermione, and he was fascinated by her. George wanted to know about her, about what she thought and felt, how she saw the world. He wanted to share his meals with her, and his bed. He wanted to make her laugh and make her blush and make her gasp with pleasure.

George sat at his work table, at Fred's work table after Lee left with Hermione and thought. Remembering the last time, he carefully warded the workroom to give him ample warning of anyone approaching, and rested his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands and thought, out loud.

"Does it mean I love her, Fred? I don't know. I can't say that, not the way she wants me to. I can say I care about her more than just about anything and I can say I want her in my life. But love means demands. It means a future. I can't see that, not yet."

George stared unseeingly before him. "It's not that I don't want to be with her, I can't imagine life without her at this point. It's that I still can't imagine life without you, Fred. I'm living it, every day. And it hurts every damned day. I can't see much farther than opening the store. That's been the goal, the focus that helps me get out of bed. Once that's done, I don't know what happens."

George paused again, and sighed. "I just don't know what I'm doing or what I'll be. I'm half-afraid I'll go crazy again, she was right about that. I just can't tell what will happen next, always been rubbish at that anyway. Probably not fair to her, I know, but it's true enough, Fred. Putting some words on it and calling it something doesn't change the fact that either one of us can simply walk out. Doesn't make it less likely or any less painful if it happens." He fell quiet for a bit, frowning, thinking.

"D'you think I'm being a coward? D'you think I'm afraid to commit to her? Maybe that's the problem. Oh, I'm not stupid, I don't think loving her means she'll be taken away too. I do love her, I just don't know how I love her, how far that extends. And she's right that saying it without knowing what it means isn't fair to her. None of this is, is it? But Freddy, I want her here with me so badly it's painful. Is it wrong to keep this going without promises? Wouldn't it be more wrong to make promises I don't know I can keep?"

George ran a tired hand over his face and laid his forehead on the worktop, resting where Fred's hands had rested before, slipping into a quiet misery that even Hermione rarely saw. The constant raw edges of his soul, where it felt Fred had been cut out of him felt opened again, consuming him. It didn't hurt like this all the time, as it had at first. But all these weeks later this pain still caught him short, took his breath away, made him struggle to conceive of how long he could on without Fred there, made him wonder how he'd gone on this long. A ragged, dry sob clawed its way through his chest, a keening sound of pain that hurt George's own ear to hear. Wetness on his face, George gave in to the grief he often tried to ignore.

Half an hour later, he felt spent, but purged. Tension had been building for some time as they pushed closer to August. He didn't know what would happen after, other than the certain knowledge Fred would still be gone. That pressure, as well as the feelings of remembrance and sorrow that were raised by the inevitable comparisons to the first time they'd opened. George wiped his eyes, and wished Hermione were here. Her quiet presence and sympathy at times like this, not pushing him to talk or to behave in a certain way, just simply offering silent support was healing for him. For a moment, George wondered if this relationship were entirely one-sided, and resolved to try harder to ensure that was not the case.

He looked around him. For the moment, things were paused. There was still plenty to do, and would be even after they opened, he acknowledged. At some point, he'd get back to inventing even, he supposed. But they'd worked very hard. Perhaps it was time to take a break, to do something nice for her. He couldn't tell her that he loved her, for her reasons and his own, but he could show her how he cared for her, how he wanted her to be with him, to be happy, happy with him.

-o0o-

_A/N: Well, they're finally opening their eyes a bit, aren't they? Going on forever without acknowledging what was happening was never going to last forever, and even this may prove to be too much for Hermione. This has never been a romance, so I am not going to promise they are going to live happily ever after. I'm rooting for them though. Hope you enjoy, I'm already hard at work on chap 11. Cheers, all._


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me; they belong to JK Rowling et al. I make no profit from this endeavor, save personal pleasure._

-o0o-

_Chapter 11_

-o0o-

The night before the shop officially re-opened was Harry's eighteenth birthday. Molly Weasley was determined to throw a big bash, the first real celebration since the war. George and Hermione attended, as did nearly the entire Order, nearly all of Harry's classmates and Quidditch team members and the DA. Harry seemed embarrassed by the attention, but most people seemed to enjoy the party. George dutifully set out prank treats among his mum's food, and his family seemed delighted by this sign of progress, though Hermione saw that he took little pleasure in the molting feathers and bright green hair that dotted the party. They spent little of the party near each other, but between Lee and his brothers, George had plenty of people to screen him from well-meaning acquaintances he was uninterested in seeing, and since Angelina was unable to attend, there was no acute discomfort for him.

Still, Hermione was grateful that he had a good excuse to leave at a still relatively early time, and she made her excuses about needing to get back because of the re-opening shortly after George left. She returned to the flat to find him sitting in the lounge, fiddling with a butterbeer cap, looking relieved to see her. They didn't speak much, despite the tension radiating through the air, instead getting ready for bed, and slipping under the covers. George kissed Hermione, but made no other gesture towards intimacy, save to spoon against her, and squeeze her gently as she fell asleep.

-o0o-

George woke in the middle of the night, screaming for his brother. It seemed to be the worst nightmare he'd had in some time. Hermione was awake in an instant, disconcerted for a moment, but soon she made sure George was awake, and then pulled him into her arms, and held him as he stifled his wracking sobs on her shoulder, murmuring nonsensical soothing sounds to him until the spate of nightmarish grief had passed.

He laid down again when he was in greater control, placing his head in her lap, looking up at the ceiling dispassionately. "Sorry about that," he finally said.

Hermione ran her fingers through his hair. "None of that. Are you all right now?" A shrug was the only response. "Right, bad question. Do you want to talk about it?" George shook his head. "What do you want to talk about?"

George was quiet for a moment, the gentle touch of her fingers running softly through his hair was calming. "Am I doing the right thing? Re-opening the shop?" he finally asked in a near whisper.

Hermione frowned as she considered her answer. "I can't answer that, George. Not in a true sense. I think so. I think that you promised Fred, and even though I think it's been exceptionally painful for you, I think that fulfilling that promise and having a purpose is good. I think you are better off for the work you've done and for continuing the dream you both shared than you'd be if you didn't do this."

George sighed. "Right. You're very good at that, you know. Quite a change from the bossy little bint that tried to torture me in my last year."

Hermione pursed her lips, which made George smile a tiny bit. "What do you think? Are you changing your mind?"

"No," he said glumly. "Not after what I paid to advertise this grand affair. It just hurts. I thought I'd feel better about keeping my promise, but it's nothing like before, when we opened the first time. It feels hollow."

"It's because he's not here to do it with you. That feeling may never go away," Hermione said gently.

"How can you stand it?" he asked suddenly, sitting up for the first time, resting his arms on his knees, as Hermione pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin on her hands.

"What do you mean?" she responded.

"I mean your parents. How do get through all these things without focusing on the fact they're missing and why?"

She smiled sadly. "I'm afraid you've really hit that peak before me, George. My dad's birthday is in August, but beyond that, sometimes it just feels like I'll be popping back home for a visit soon. Maybe it helps that they are alive and happy in Australia. But mostly, I don't think about what they'll miss. I miss them terribly though. I don't know quite how I'll cope with it."

"I hate it. I hate my whole life stretching out in front of me and knowing he won't be there. He won't plan my stag party or toast me at my wedding or be godfather to my children. He won't see our next store, he won't ever know that you and I have got together or tease me about it or prank you. Fred's just gone and I hate it."

"I understand. I never did like the idea of wizard marriage, but now I can't see it at all. Even after I learned about the horribly archaic bindings, I still had these dreams about weddings, always pictured my dad walking me down the aisle and dancing with me at a lavish sort of reception. I can't picture getting married with no one there for me."

"It makes me wonder who I am anymore. My past is so filled with Fred, and my future is totally without him. I don't care for either of those at present," George said sadly.

"Do what you've been doing since the beginning. Get up everyday. Eat. Breathe. One foot in front of the other. This feels unnatural to you, but after awhile, it'll become routine," Hermione gave a small shrug as if to say 'yes, it's inadequate and trite, but it is all I've got.'

"Routine, like you've become?" He asked, a small smile making his eyes crinkle a bit.

Hermione huffed. "I'm a routine? How lovely." George chuckled and Hermione smiled in return. "Right. I mean that once you are re-acclimated, you'll find a new goal. You'll get back to inventing, and you'll build your funds back up and then you'll probably think about another store. Something will come along and you'll get swept up in it. I don't think you'll ever stop missing Fred, and I don't think you want to if you could." She fell silent for a moment, lost in her own thoughts. "I'm up for now. I think I'll make tea. You want some?"

George shrugged, but clambered off their bed, and padded down the hallway after her. Hermione went through the soothing, familiar motions, soon bringing a fragrant mix to George, who was sitting cross legged on the couch, chin in his hands, staring at a fire he'd started.

"What is this?" he asked as he accepted the cup from her.

"Chamomile and spearmint. Black tea is caffeinated and will keep you up. This is herbal, more soothing, supposed to help you sleep," she said off-handedly. They drank their tea in quiet companionship.

"Did you mean it, that you don't want to get married? Ever, I mean?" he asked suddenly.

Hermione's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I shan't say never, but no, I'm not fond of the idea. Nothing against marriage, of course. It's just that the wizard bonds seem too restrictive to me. At least any time in the near future. Muggles have the option of leaving marriages that aren't happy or well-suited. It perhaps happens more often than it ought to do, but I don't like wizard marriages. You're tied for life, and if you're not careful about the vows you take, you could end up in a terrible situation. I don't fancy that, not without being certain beyond all doubt that it was right. I have such a hard time understanding how people could marry just out of Hogwarts, without any chance of escape if it were bad, particularly given the average lifespan of magical people."

"Just what is normal to wizards, I guess. I never gave it much consideration, but you've got a point, I suppose. Though it's true that none of my friends are married yet, though I expect Oliver and Alicia to go that route." George shrugged.

"Why do you ask?" Hermione finally asked, out of blatant curiosity.

"I dunno. Never heard that from you before. You seem to like definition so much that it's an attitude that surprises me, I guess. You don't seem like the sort to live with a bloke without a commitment." George colored and laughed when Hermione simply gave him a direct look with a single arched eyebrow to make his point. "Right, yeah, that's a bit stupid of me."

"To be honest, I also expected that I'd be pretty tied to a career for several years. Now, though, I don't know. Not much I can do with only OWLs," Hermione sighed.

"Do you hate it here so much?" George asked quietly. "I mean, I won't take it personally or anything, I know that working in a joke shop was never on your list of ambitions."

"No, actually, I don't hate it here at all. It's really stimulating, to be honest. I don't love all of the products, not like you do. But the magic required is diverse and stunning," she replied with a smile.

"Not everyone can do it, that's true," George said. "Wait until I get you involved in inventing and trials. I'm hopeful that once we've been open for a bit, we'll see good sales and get a good feeling for how much work we need to keep things stocked, then maybe go back to what Fred and I were working on. If, I mean. . . that is, I assumed and I shouldn't." George stuttered to a stop.

"Shouldn't assume what?" Hermione asked patiently.

"That you'd be staying on. I guess, well, initially you just offered to help me open up again. And you know that you could go back to Hogwarts or sit your NEWTs at the Ministry when they next offer it. If that's what you want to do, well," George paused, "then you should."

Hermione felt a sudden prickle of tears at her eyes. "I . . . that's . . . George. Thank you." She set her tea down and leaned forward, throwing her arms around him, causing him to blink in surprise, as she resumed her former seat. "I'm not going anywhere for present, but thank you. For understanding. Of course I'm staying on. I truly am enjoying it here for now."

George picked up one of Hermione's hands and kissed it. "I'm more glad than I can say. Look, things are . . . have been confusing. But whatever this is between us, I want you to know I'm glad of it. You make me happy. And I guess I really feel you should know that, yeah?"

Hermione couldn't speak, her throat has closed. But she smiled, a genuine, brilliant smile that George saw only rarely from her, and squeezed his hand tightly. He felt a fluttering in his chest at that smile, and stood up, tugging her with him. She gave him a questioning look, but he only responded with a cheeky grin she'd not seen from him since before the battle, one she'd seen more on his twin's face.

Once they reached the bedroom, he took her face in both hands and kissed her before whispering in her ear, "I thought of something better than tea that might help us sleep."

-o0o-

The morning was tense. Though George was successful in his mission to get them to sleep, the disruption in the night left them feeling tired and less than rested. Added to that was the concern over the opening, whether or not anyone would come, and how the day would go. George's nerves were evident, and he was short-tempered. His mood made Hermione's more frazzled as well. This was a big day, and important one, and she was feeling just as mixed up as George was.

She'd not given any thought whatsoever to leaving the shop, to her chagrin. She ought to consider her future, but she'd wrapped herself up in George's small world and was content to stay there. Hermione shook her head as she heard George curse loudly in the kitchen. Whatever she needed to think over could wait, as she'd been honest the night before. She liked the shop and what she was doing, so why borrow trouble over the future? Not when he needed her now.

Hermione walked calmly into the kitchen to see George scowling at a pan filled with burnt eggs. He glared at Hermione when she vanished the mess, and she knew this was going to be a very, very long day.

She adopted a brisk, no-nonsense tone of voice. "George, neither of us were going to eat burnt eggs. I know you are frustrated and tired. I'll make breakfast, you go shower."

"I'm not hungry," he said stubbornly.

"But you need to eat something anyway. Eggs and bacon? Or would you rather have ham?" she asked, whisking the eggs into a frothy yellow.

"Ham," George said grudgingly.

"Right. Go shower, it's starting to get late," Hermione shooed him away, and turned her attention to making breakfast. It was on the table when George returned, now dressed for work, sans robes. He looked more awake and less irritable. They ate quickly and George did the dishes while Hermione took her turn in the loo. She was planning to spend the day mostly restocking and taking note of what was selling so that she could begin production to keep up with high volume, so she opted for comfortable clothing and pulling her hair back.

Hermione emerged from the loo just in time to see George shrugging into his robes, and getting ready to head downstairs. She stopped him quickly, and walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, feeling the tension humming through his body.

"I just want you to know that I am so proud of you, George. And that I'm here all day, whatever you need, all right?" He sagged a bit, but nodded. "I want you to kiss me before you go downstairs and we're too busy and around too many people to manage that."

"Not if you're going to be all bossy," he said, giving her a wink.

"Thought you liked it when I was bossy," she said, pretending to pout.

"When did I say that?"

"When you were pissed that night. You said you liked being in charge, but that you also liked when I was bossy. You then proceeded to tell me it was a real turn on for Fred as well," she said dryly, but smiled when George winced.

"Right. Definitely need to be sure I don't pissed without getting you soused as well. I just make a fool of myself," he said with a sigh.

"George. Back on point," Hermione said in a prissy tone, pouting her lips.

"Don't have to ask me twice," he said before kissing her thoroughly. It was a proper good snog, George taking his time, tangling his tongue with hers, sucking lightly on her lip, urging her to explore him as eagerly as he did her, before breaking off suddenly with a groan. "Granger, you are a devious witch. I can't possibly think about anything else when we're snogging like that. Alas, I need to go lower the wards, because Verity is due any moment, and with luck, we'll have generated enough interest that a few people will want to drop by."

George's words ended up being an understatement. There was a small crowd already gathering outside the store by a quarter til ten, when they officially reopened. George was giving last minute instructions to Verity, ensuring she had everything she required, including proper change. Hermione tied her hair back, and pulled on the horrid magenta robes, making sure her wand was to hand. As the time ticked down, Verity checked her hair in a handmirror and Hermione saw George close his eyes and clinch his fists. She stepped closer and laid a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"One breath at a time. You can do it," she said softly.

George looked down into her brown eyes and blew out the deep breath he'd taken, nodding slightly. One more deep breath, and a clock behind the register rudely called out the time, and with a steady hand and shaking voice, George lowered the wards and opened his shop anew.

-o0o-

Only ninety minutes into the day and Hermione was feeling overwhelmed, frantic and worn out. The crowd had surged into the store, children's squeals filled the air, and it hadn't stopped yet. It had only grown worse. It appeared that no one had forgotten about Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in the five months they'd been closed, and the fact that the Weasley's were war heroes seemed to make the store more popular than ever.

Wonder Witch products were practically flying off the shelves, and Hermione felt as if she were being mobbed as she carried box after box of product from the storeroom to the sales floor. Verity appeared calm and cheerful, and Hermione was in awe of her ability to quickly ring up customers and diffuse tension from the long line that snaked in front of the till.

George was everywhere, smiling a pasted-on smile that hurt Hermione to look at. He did well enough, greeting customers, directing them, answering their queries about his products, but his loud, bouncing personality was clearly, to Hermione, an act. The smile became more wooden and and the voice more forced the longer it went on. She knew that George planned to close up for lunch, but that was still at least ninety more minutes away and she didn't think he'd make it that long. Hermione could see him looking around, even flinching when he heard another person call his name. It was all the visitors in the past couple of weeks multiplied by a hundred.

After hearing yet another person ask him enthusiastically how he was holding up, Hermione intervened much as she had in those previous visits.

"George! There you are! So sorry to interrupt," she said sweetly to a bloke she thought was on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team three or so years ahead of her. "I'm sorry, I desperately need your help in the workroom."

"Of course, love. Matthew, good to see you, we'll catch up later," he said, and then followed Hermione. Once they were in the workroom, Hermione shut the door and locked it and pulled him into her arms. He gave a long, shuddering sigh, and slumped against her.

"We can't stay long," she warned.

"I don't know how much longer I can do this," he whispered.

"You're doing really well, George. Really well," she assured him.

"I know I should be grateful for the good showing, but gods, this is worse than I imagined. That's what he was always best at. I could hide behind the counter or in the workroom while he worked the floor. He should be here now," he said plaintive.

"I know," she said, eyes filling with tears. "I know." Because she could think of nothing else, she pulled him down and kissed him. Physical distraction always worked well in the past, and this was no exception. He threw himself desperately into that kiss, but when he started fumbling with her robes, she pushed him away, practically gasping for air.

"There's not enough time," she said in a strained voice. "Can't leave Verity alone too long, it's too crowded."

"Bugger Verity," George replied, but then sighed. "Right. You're right." He rested his cheek on top of her head for a moment. "Okay, then, out we go. Thank you, love."

Hermione didn't respond, but tightened her grip momentarily before stepping away to open the door to the storeroom and summon a crate of Wonder Witch products to take out, and George stepped back out onto the floor, shoulders squared.

-o0o-

It happened once more before lunch. This time, it was George calling Hermione into the workroom, and he wasted no time on words, diving straight into a harsh, need-fueled kiss, his hands delving into her robes, and finding their way under her shirt before she could register a protest. George moved on to her neck, as she groaned and her eyes fluttered closed. When a hand moved to the waist of her jeans, she pushed him away.

"No. No George," she moaned. "Not right now. Oh, gods. Stop it!"

George backed away, panting a bit. "Right. Sorry."

Hermione ran her hands through her ruffled hair, restoring it to an orderly ponytail, trying to gather herself. "You are going to drive me batty," she said, but her voice was filled with affection. She cupped his cheek in her hand, then reached up to kiss his cheek. "Can you make it until lunch? We'll have an hour to go up to the flat if you can hold out."

"Yes, fine," he groaned in frustration. "Lunch. Just . . . don't do that thing."

Hermione pursed her lips and cocked her eyebrow. "What thing would that be, exactly, George?"

"That thing where you bite your lip and get that little crease between your eyebrows. It's enormously sexy. Don't do that."

The door to the workroom opened suddenly, and though they were standing apart from each other, they jumped. It was Angelina standing in opening, eyes narrowed somewhat.

George cleared his throat. "Right. So, as I was saying, good eye on the Wonder Witch products, but if you get the chance, I need to you to start a new batch of love potions, they're selling like mad."

"Whatever you like, George. I'll just pop down and grab another crate of Skiving Snackboxes. They were low when I last looked." She slipped past him, and descended into the storeroom, to George's relief and Angelina's annoyance.

"So, great crowd, you must be pleased," Angelina said, an edge in her voice.

"Yes, but it's been terribly busy. Still, I think Fred would've been pleased by the turnout. Have to see if it keeps up beyond today or no, though," George said in a friendly, professional voice.

"I haven't seen you in some time," Angelina said, stepping closer to George, who did his best not to flinch.

"Well, you see the madness out there, Ange, it's taken a lot of work to get back to that, and it's making a real dent into our stock already. I haven't got a lot of free time, unfortunately," he responded, his voice now cool.

"Yes, well, it's paid off, I think. You've done well, Georgie. I was thinking that since you've got things in hand, you might be ready for some good company," Angelina said, leaning against a worktable in a way that she clearly thought was seductive. George had watched her drape herself the same way to get Fred's attention, and the thought was sour.

"I'm flattered, but first day back is a bad time. I want Verity to have a good break, and the shop will have to be put back to rights since we've not had much chance of cleaning as we're going, and poor Hermione's going to be stuck back here with a potion," he said, a smile on his face, but his voice completely frosty.

Angelina straightened, a frown on her face. "Then I'll stay and help you. Lee had mentioned he might come by as well."

George sighed. "We'll see."

Hermione popped back into view, levitating a large container of Skiving Snackboxes, and turned to George with an exasperated sigh. "Dunno what you did with the Puking Pastilles, I can't find them. Your turn to search if you want me to start on that potion. Excuse me, Angelina," she said, the box hovering in front of her.

Angelina glared at the interruption. "Well, I'll just wait outside, shall I?" she snapped.

George rolled his eyes once she'd slipped out the door and shut it with a bang, and then descended to the storage room, and chuckled. The Puking Pastilles were right where they ought to've been; Hermione was just sparing him the brewing argument.

Hermione braved the crowd, quickly using her wand to restock the nearly depleted Skiving Snackboxes, earning a brilliant smile from Verity. She then straightened what she could of the Wonder Witch products and then an arm encircled her, and she gasped, startled.

"Hullo, Hermione," Lee said cheerfully. "Didn't expect such a press, excellent turn out."

"Thanks. It's been a bit mad," she said carefully. "Did you stop by for lunch?"

"Well, I could, but mostly just moral support, really," Lee said with a shrug.

"Right. It would be a good idea. Angelina's turned up and George was already on his last nerve before she arrived," Hermione said grimly.

"Yes, I see the lovebite," Lee said teasingly, laughing when Hermione shoved him away. "Aw, come on love, don't be like that. You know I adore you."

"I'm busy, Jordan. Go find your mate and cheer him up, he could use the break. And don't bother stopping to flirt with Verity, she got engaged," Hermione said, turning away from Lee and returning to the workroom to begin brewing love potions; George was right, they were going faster than ever expected.

Lee waved his acknowledgment and searched out his friend. One look at George was enough to show him that he was having a hard time, though hiding it well. He watched George smile at young boy who looked to be about a first year, handing him a box of fireworks and ruffling his hair. The smile faded as soon as the boy was out of site. Lee ambled up to him and there was relief on George's face.

"Mate, well done. You should be proud," he said quietly.

George half-shrugged, " S'all right, I suppose. Fred would've bloody loved it."

"Aye, he would. You and Hermione have done well. It looks fantastic. Giving those kids something to laugh about when they go back to Hogwarts is a good thing you know, after their last year there."

"Glad someone'll be having a laugh, they're scarce enough round here lately," George said with a trace of bitterness.

"I know, mate. So, you going to let me buy you lunch? I'm sure you're ready for a break," Le cajoled.

"Dunno. Store'll need to be cleaned up, like. Verity needs a full break and Hermione is starting a new potion already because some of the stock is flying," George prevaricated. Lunch with Lee sounded good, but bed with Hermione sounded better.

"Oi, don't think I can't tell where your mind's gone! I lived with you too long not to recognize that look. She told me you have other company, so you'll have to shag her senseless later," Lee said slyly.

George grimaced. "Apparently so. Not your idea, was it?"

Lee looked a little abashed. "Well, I may've mentioned I planned to come by, but 'snot like I asked her along. Sorry mate. But if the four of us are there, it shouldn't be too bad, right?"

"I'm not in the mood," George said more firmly.

"You think you can get rid of her, you're welcome to try, mate, but I think you should just leave it and I'll get her out of here with enough time to spare for a good snog or whatever Hermione does to cheer you up when you're such a bear. What do you want? I'll take her with me to go get it," Lee offered practically.

"Better make it Indian then," George growled. "Chicken masala and samosas. And garlic naan. And you'd better include a bottle of vodka for me to drink with Hermione tonight."

Lee started laughing. "Righto. I'll just ask Hermione what she wants, and find Angelina. We'll be back by one-fifteen. That work for you?"

George nodded and waved him away, turning to watch a pair of girls giggling over love potions, and breathing a bit more easily when Lee dragged a scowling Angelina out the door. The time passed quickly and George helped usher customers out as they neared one o'clock, promising they'd reopen soon. Not a moment after the doors were closed, George turned to Verity with a sigh, to her laughter.

"Go, go, go. I will clean this mess up, you have a nice long lunch and recover. I'll see you back at two-fifteen. Thanks, dear," George shooed his employee away, and sighed with relief at the sudden quiet that descended. It was nearly as soothing as Hermione's presence.

Falling back into a old familiar activity, George methodically and quickly went through the store, waving his wand to right the displays, organize the products, and generally restore order inasmuch as order was ever had in the colorful, animated joke shop. He savored the peace and solitude for a moment in a way he would never have done before losing his brother. This was a time he'd hated before, never really wholly comfortable on his own for extended time. Odd that he craved it now, odder yet that he didn't consider Hermione's presence an imposition on that solitude. She was such a natural extension of him, yet he was aware of her in a sense that he'd never been aware of Fred; he would have to think about that later, he thought, as he moved to the workroom, glancing at the clock, reckoning he had a good ten minutes before Lee's return. He intended to make the most of it.

-o0o-

Hermione busied herself with love potions, brewing two double batches at a time, taking a moment to appreciate just how far she'd come in learning these products. She'd been worked up and flustered by the morning, and by monitoring George's reactions to it, and grinding the lavender was soothing. Things were well in hand by the time he appeared, past the stage of clockwise stirring, but requiring close monitoring, lest the heat get too high and render them unusable.

"Lee said something about Indian?" she said, leaning back against his worktable, arms crossed.

"Yeah, I hope you don't mind," he said, a bit sheepishly.

"Not at all. How're you holding up?" she asked keenly.

He slumped a bit. "I'm trying, Hermione, but I've never wanted so badly to close it up and curl up in bed. I'm completely knackered."

"Different from your last opening?" she asked, head cocked.

"Worlds apart. For starters, we had some publicity, but our prime demographic was still in Hogwarts when we opened and we were filling owl orders. Nowhere near the press, though we had steady traffic. Didn't feel quite so frantic, it was a lot more fun. We were on such a high, y'know? Cause we'd actually done it. Kept grinning at each other like fools." George started smiling at the memory, making Hermione smile.

George checked his watch, a battered relic he'd received from Charlie on his seventeenth birthday; Fred had received a similar one from Bill. Lee would be back in probably five minutes. With a hopeful look, George eyed the potions, then used his wand to lower the temperature of the flame.

"What are you doing? If it gets too cool, it will congeal," Hermione protested.

"I know, Hermione, I'm the one what created the recipe. Come here. It'll be fine for a few minutes," he said in a wheedling tone. She allowed herself to be pulled into his arms, looping her own around his neck, resting her cheek on his chest, hearing the slow thumping of his heart.

"I really like this, George," she said quietly.

"Me too," he said in a low voice. "Thank you for this morning. I don't think I'd've made it this long without you here to distract me. I'm sorry, far more sorry than I can say really, that Angelina and Lee stopped by. I was looking forward to lunch."

"We'll make it up after closing. Your mum sent that roasted chicken over yesterday, so we don't have to cook. A nice long shower, and then we'll go to bed early," Hermione said, hands unconsciously rubbing small circles on his shoulders and neck. George's hands ran slowly up and down her back.

"Mmmm. I'm knackered, but I do hope very much you aren't suggesting we go to sleep early," George said in tone that made Hermione shiver.

"Well, it will have been a long day," Hermione began in a prissy voice that made George smile. "But no, I'm not suggesting we sleep early."

"Glad to hear it," George said, his hand sliding up to her neck, thumb running lightly over the sensitive spot just under her ear that he liked to kiss.

"I've plenty of reading to catch up on, after all," she said brightly, looking up at him with an innocent expression.

George laughed, something he'd not thought was possible on this day. Smiling with good humor for the first time, tension absent for a moment, he leaned down to kiss her; the sound of knocking at the door interrupted him.

"Foiled yet again," he said with a grimace. "That'll be them. Go ahead and turn the potions back up. Since this was Lee's big idea, they can set out the food while we finish these up. You can bottle the lot when we're done eating."

Hermione gave George a squeeze before turning back to the potions, raising the heat. Judging by the color and the slowly spiraling steam, she had at least fifteen minutes left of careful heating and occasional stirring. She heard Lee's cheerful voice at the door and smiled briefly at him as he passed by.

"Oi, Granger, we're taking this upstairs. When will you grace us with your presence?"

Hermione saw Angelina scowl behind Lee, George standing stock-still behind her. "Probably fifteen minutes, then I can let it cool. Go on up and start without me. I eat fast." She turned her attention back to the potion, lowering the heat on the second cauldron.

"Sure you're all right here?" George asked. Hermione nodded and made a shooing motion, and Angelina stalked up the stairs. Lee rolled his eyes at George and then followed their friend, George leaned forward to place his customary kiss on Hermione's forehead and whispered, "For the love of Merlin, don't leave me alone with those two a second longer than is necessary."

-o0o-

George hid his relief well enough as Lee strolled out of the shop with Angelina's arm firmly tucked in his own. Lunch had been tense, Angelina altering between shooting glares at Hermione or Lee and trying to be flirtatious and ingratiating with George. He responded as neutrally as possible, trying to discourage her attention without being outright rude to her. Hermione seemed mildly amused by it, which was a relief, but she shared some knowing looks with Lee that George found bloody irritating, because he knew they were at his expense.

Fortunately, Lee was as good as his word, and he'd trapped Angelina into accompanying him to help him find a gift for his mum, leaving George with fifteen minutes before Verity was expected to return. The doors closed and an instant later, George had his arms around Hermione, and had hoisted her up onto his empty worktable, and their lips crashed together hungrily. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and they rubbed frustratingly against each other.

"Hermione," George groaned, "we've got enough time."

"No," she gasped; his lips were at the sensitive point at her neck, one of his hands under her shirt, working under her bra. "Not here. Not enough time to go back upstairs."

"Fuck, Hermione, want you so badly," he pleaded, pressing his arousal into her, and then capturing her mouth for another deep kiss.

A deep, amused voice broke into the kiss. "Well, I guess opening day's going rather well then."

George tried to spring away from Hermione, but she was precipitously clinging to him, and nearly lost her balance, shrieking from both the shock of Bill Weasley appearing in the doorway of the workroom and catching them snogging and from the precarious position she was suddenly in. George muttered an apology and steadied her while she clambered off the worktable, and then they turned to face Bill, George shifting uncomfortably under Bill's level gaze.

"You know, children, if you are going to engage in private behavior, it behooves you do it privately. At least relock the doors; anyone could walk in and you've not got anyone minding the shop." His voice and face were neutral, and he studied the pair before him.

"I should, um, go check the stock," Hermione murmured, slipping beyond Bill, her face red and hot.

"What are you doing here, Bill?" George asked warily.

"Came to make sure you were getting on all right. Seems you're better than all right," Bill said, his voice now warmer and more suggestively teasing. "Hermione Granger, eh? And she's living here. Where does she sleep then?"

George made an irritated noise. "Where do you expect she sleeps? Don't be dense."

"Why have you lot been keeping this such a secret?" he asked more seriously. "You don't think Mum would be delighted?"

"I doubt Mum would be particularly delighted with this arrangement, actually. Living in sin, scarlet women, ring any bells? Oh, right, you pretended that you and Fleur had separate flats. Wonder why we wouldn't make grand announcements," George said sarcastically.

"So that's why Hermione moved in with you instead of Harry and Ron. I'd wondered, but they were so adamant that she had her own space here and it was just a working relationship," Bill mused.

"It's not why she moved in, it started up rather after. It is a working relationship, and she does have her own room upstairs. It's complicated, Bill. We're not exactly together that way. You could say we're still figuring things out, like." George started fiddling with glass stirrer.

"Looked to me like you've got the basics down, though I feel the need, as your elder brother, to inform you that sex works better when you aren't wearing clothes," Bill teased.

George gave him a withering glare. "Sex is not our problem. Our relationship is our problem."

"That makes no sense, George," Bill said more seriously.

George sighed. "It's not neatly defined. There is still a lot of uncertainty. I think we both care about each other very much. I think we both like being with each other, but it's not exactly clear what it means or where it's going. Just sort of taking it a day at a time. Which is why we haven't said anything. I'm not sure what we could say, really."

Bill held up a hand. "Right, I understand. I don't see why it needs to be a secret, but that's your lookout. I won't go running home to gossip with Mum or anything. But you really ought to reconsider seduction down here. You've got a lot of volatile potions ingredients you don't want knocked about, and unless you're considering an adult line, you might not want to expose the ickle kiddies to scenes like that."

"An adult line. Hmm, that's a good idea," George said distractedly, reaching for his notebook, and jotting down a few lines with an ever-sharp pencil he kept there for that purpose. "A number of existent bases could be altered, make the daydream charms more explicit, so on. Thanks, Bill, dunno why we never considered it."

"Probably because you don't generally get into expanding your sexual techniques until you've been with the same person for awhile. But I really only came by to see to how things were going. I know you've had a rough time, though you try to hide it."

"Hermione helps. She's done more than help, really. Drug me out of the hole I fell in, gave me the right amount of space and support. It's not very easy, most of the time. But today's been. . . well, it's been difficult, but not so bad as I'd been afraid of. When it's gotten rough, Hermione's been there to help me." George's voice was soft and quiet, but when he looked at his eldest brother, his gaze was steady.

"I'm glad, George," Bill said with sincerity. "I know I've not been there as much I ought. I'm glad someone has been."

"I didn't want you there. Too hard at first. But it's getting better, y'know? Hopefully business stays steady. Perhaps not quite the madhouse of this morning, because we're going to be at restocking all bleeding week, but . . . Fred would be pleased, I think."

"I'm sure he is pleased," Bill said solemnly. There was quiet for a moment, and then Bill pulled his younger brother in for a rough hug. "All right, kid. I'm proud of you. I've got to get back to work then. I'll be seeing you and Hermione at family dinner?" George nodded.

The door opened, and Hermione slipped back inside. George could hear the shop buzzing again. "Right, better get back out there," he said, giving Hermione a kiss on the forehead, as was his custom.

Hermione eyed Bill nervously, but stepped over to her worktable, where the love potions were waiting to be bottled, and began pouring them out, waiting for Bill to speak.

"Don't worry, Hermione, I won't tell anyone. George indicated that you lot aren't ready to go public, and that's your decision," Bill said, and Hermione looked up with gratitude and relief on her features. "But be more careful. Mum is likely to stop by sometime and she will alert everyone in the whole of England by sheer volume alone if she catches you like I did."

Hermione winced. "I'm sorry. It was rather stupid of me, it's just been such a long, difficult day already -"

Bill cut her off. "No need to explain. Look, I've got to get back myself. I just wanted to say that I don't want to know what you've done, but you've really helped George. He's clearly coping a lot better with everything. So, thank you for making sure we didn't lose both of the twins." Bill gave Hermione a hug and then left quickly before she could protest.

-o0o-

Hermione was never so grateful to see the evening roll around as she was that day. The afternoon had been longer, and her nerves seemed to be shot. Even Verity was looking grim by the end. George had insisted each of them take a generous break in the afternoon. To Hermione's surprise, he seemed more composed than he had in the morning, only pulling her down into the storeroom for a long languid kiss once.

The shop had remained packed with people, and the sheer volume of the masses was making her head pound. Things thinned out some round teatime, but there was a fresh wave as work closed down for the day. George went through doing a quick inventory, grimacing at his notes, and Hermione had a sinking feeling that the brutal pace of the last two weeks wasn't going away anytime soon. Certainly, they'd been unprepared for this level of interest.

George shouted that final sales were to be taken to the register about ten til seven, and as the disappointed murmur swept through the crowd, Hermione sighed with relief. As the patrons made their way to the front, Hermione began cleaning up the detritus of a long, busy day. The shelves were a mess, there were spilt products and burst packaging and sticky hands had been touching things they outghtn't to and she felt bone weary. Once the queue had moved through the register, George locked the doors, and everyone slumped together.

"Well, all things together, not so bad," George said heavily. Hermione looked at him with a single raised eyebrow, but Verity agreed tiredly. George picked up his wand and suddenly summoned the bottle of vodka that Lee had provided, and conjured three shot glasses when it appeared. He poured it out and handed one to each girl before clearing his throat. "Fred and I toasted with the last bottle of firewhiskey we had at the end of the first day. So it seems appropriate to do it again, even if it's only muggle alcohol. Cheers to re-opening and making the first day a success. To you, to returning harmless pranks to Hogwarts and to Fred, who would've loved every damned minute of it." They three of them clinked their shot glasses and tossed down their shots.

"Well, boss, it's been fun, but I'm dead tired," Verity said, setting her glass on the counter. "Back again tomorrow?"

"Indeed, you're back to full time. We'll start advertising tomorrow for another shop assistant. I'm going to need Hermione in the back on production if demand keeps up like this. If you know someone reliable, it'll save time," George said. "Come September, if things go well, we'll need someone on owl orders part time as well."

"Yeah, I know a girl or two who might be looking. I'll let you know. See you tomorrow." Verity unlocked the door and disappeared, while George re-locked it behind her.

"I rather thought that things would relax some after today," Hermione mused. "I think I'm rather an idiot in the end for thinking so."

George rested an arm around her briefly. "Not at all. Unrealistic, perhaps, but not idiotic. I hate to say it, but there is good news and bad news."

"Oh?" Hermione asked, sounding deflated.

"Good news is that sales exceeded my wildest expectation. Have to count it up yet, but we're moving back into liquid funds. Bad news is that sales exceeded my wildest expectations, and we're further behind restocking that I imagined. It's going to be a long week."

"But not tonight. I'm too tired. We can get up early, but tonight we need the rest," Hermione said defiantly.

George smiled a little at her fierceness and relented. "Right, not tonight. We've other plans tonight. I need to tally up before I go upstairs though, and get this into the safe. You want to start dinner?"

"Yes, that's a good plan," Hermione agreed. She leaned over the counter and used his robes to pull him to her and kissed him very slowly and very thoroughly. "But don't take long. It's been a trying day and I can't say I'm feeling very patient." She punctuated her words by sauntering off into the workroom.

George felt a grin cross his face. This was in no way how he'd expected this day to go, but he couldn't complain too much about it, not when he had such a gorgeous witch waiting for him.

-o0o-

_A/N: So, it's been awhile, for which I apologize. Things are crazy, and this chapter was very uncooperative. But I'm excited about what it is upcoming. Hope you enjoyed this!_


	12. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer: Again, as always, while the original plot or content contained within is of my own concoction, the characters, background, world, etc are not. They belong, with all rights and so forth to their legal owners; I merely borrow and play, with no profit made for my idle whimsy._

-o0o-

Chapter 12

-o0o-

Hermione moaned as George kneaded the flesh of her upper back, his hands sure, working in the liniment of his own design. The two weeks since re-opening had taken a serious toll on her, and she was very happy when George announced they were closing up early so they could all enjoy a proper night off. Sales had not abated from that first day, and getting in new staff had been a priority. Verity recommended two of her former Hufflepuff housemates, both looking for part-time work only, and after the third trial day, George made them permanent staff. That had freed Hermione up to get back to churning out products, and she'd spent most of this day in the flat, baking biscuits and making candy.

The more time George spent in the shop, the easier it became. He still took frequent respites from the crowds – Hermione made sure of that – but he wasn't finding the hoards as tedious and wearying as they had been previously. Of course, he spent at least half his time in the storeroom office, tending to paperwork. He refused all of Hermione's offers of help with it, claiming it was one thing he'd always managed on his own and that he didn't need help. She shrugged and turned back to her product base brewing. It was no longer uncommon for Hermione to have two or three double batches of bases going at once, sometimes overnight, though George teased her about it. Of course, his old habit of packing fireworks while he rested made his points moot, but there was a more definite routine to their days now.

Still, George slept fitfully, and Hermione had been revisited by her nightmare the night before, so this evening in without any work, at George's insistence, couldn't have come at a better time for her. And he was being terribly solicitous of her, not that she minded overly much. Hermione had always prided herself on her independence and reliability, but she was willing to admit that being taken care of now and again was rather lovely.

"Oooooooohhh, George, that is bloody incredible," she groaned as he worked out a particularly bothersome knot in her lower back. "What did I do to deserve this royal treatment?"

George's hands paused in their ministrations, and he replied in a thoughtful tone. "An excellent point, Hermione. Hmmm, now that interlude down in the storeroom day before last was pretty enjoyable. Maybe I'm just hoping to talk you into a repeat performance."

Hermione laughed. "Don't be such a prat, George."

"Can I really not just want to pamper you a bit? You were on your feet up here all day." He sounded a little put out as his hands resumed their pleasantly relaxing massage.

"Of course you can," she said, her voice softening. "I'm not used to it, that's all. I do appreciate it, though."

"I suppose I could be trying to soften you up for something," George said some time later, his voice different. It made Hermione a bit wary.

"Oh, what might that be?" she asked pleasantly.

"Nothing awful. Just . . . there's something we need to talk about," George admitted. Immediately, Hermione sat up.

"I feel like I need to be clothed for this. What's it about, George?" There was a sinking feeling in her stomach as she looked at him sheepishly duck his head.

"You can get dressed if you want. It's about, well, when you agreed to stay here? I promised you a fair wage. I haven't paid you anything yet though," he said, fiddling with the cuff of his trousers.

"Is that all? George, I really just wanted someplace other than the Burrow to stay, and something to do for awhile. You gave me both of those things. It's not like I've paid any rent here or anything towards the grocers bill," Hermione said, feeling relief flood her.

"You've done far more than your share around here, and there is no chance the shop would be up and running if it weren't for your work. We had a deal, Hermione, and I want to pay you for what you've done," George said firmly.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, finally reaching for her shirt. It felt not a little awkward to discuss remuneration for her work while she was half-naked. This entire topic was distressing, really. "George, I appreciate that, really, but it doesn't feel right. I mean, we're in this relationship, and you paying me makes me feel uneasy."

"You're not alone there, Hermione. But you should have some funds of your own, so you have more options. I don't want you to feel tied or beholden to me. Of course that's not me saying I don't want you around or wouldn't support you. Just that, well, I know you are a fairly independent person, and being able to have that freedom is probably important to you, or will be at some point." George had been fidgeting as he spoke, but now looked directly at her.

Hermione was touched; George had seemed to put a lot of thought into this. "I appreciate that, George, really, but I'm not interested in going on your payroll while we're shagging. It's just inappropriate."

"And you aren't about to give up shagging someone as good in bed as me, naturally," George said with a smirk. "Which is why I have a business proposition for you to consider."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and pursed her lips, waiting for him to continue.

"Right. I've talked this over with Bill, because he's the only one in my family who knows about us and because he's the executor of Fred's will," George began, only to be interrupted by Hermione.

"Fred had a will?" she blurted out, then looked chagrined.

George rolled his eyes. "Of course he did, Hermione. I've got one too, though it's not been updated. We did, and I do, actually have some assets here. The shop isn't the only piece of our business, we own the building and the one next door, we own several patents and proprietary rights to the formulae for a variety of our product line. And we bought some of Zonko's patents as well. I told you before that Bill had tied up a lot of our liquid funds in investments, and it all yields profit. We set Weasley's Wizard Wheezes as a limited company, and both Fred and I owned forty-five percent of the company. We gave the remaining ten percent to Harry, since he wouldn't let us pay him back the Tri-Wizard funds he gave us for start-up. He still tries to give it back, but Bill had a goblin draw it all up for us, so he's stuck with it." George paused to snort at the thought, while Hermione stopped gaping at him.

"I had no idea it was that extensive. I should've done, but -"

"No, we didn't talk about it much. Hard to keep up the proper image if people find you to be a shrewd businessman. Anyway, Fred left his forty-five percent of the company to me in his will, which gives me ninety percent of the company. After talking it over with Bill, I've got an offer for you." George paused to let that sink in, and then took a deep breath, plunging ahead.

"I'd like to make you an official partner, and give you thirty percent of the company. There is no shop without you at this point. I still retain a controlling sixty percent of the company, but this would give you a lot of freedom. We're still getting a number of requests for large-scale orders from both the Ministry and St. Mungos, which I've put off for a bit. But it's a direction I think you might like more than pranks. Anyway, the thirty percent is as long as you stay with the company. If you decide you want to go do something else, work for the Ministry liberating house elves or something, then fifteen percent will revert back to me, and you'll retain the other fifteen percent."

Hermione blinked. And then blinked again. George's lips quirked up in spite of the nerves he was feeling. He'd been tossing this idea over for two weeks, but it wasn't until he'd talked it through thoroughly with Bill that he'd really felt comfortable about it. This was something that would secure Hermione's future entirely apart from him and any relationship they had, but also the best way he could acknowledge what she had done and was doing for the shop while avoiding the awkwardness of becoming her boss, at least on paper.

"Look," he finally said, to break the silence, running a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture she recognized. "You've been my partner in this since I move back home. You're my partner in practically every way. I just thought maybe making it official was a good idea. And then you're taken care of, whatever you decide you want to do. You can stick around and do more than simply brew potions. You can take time off to study for your NEWTs or do whatever you like, really. Fred and I had a lot of plans for this little business. I think you can help me make some of them a reality." His voice was pleading, cajoling.

"George, I really don't know what to say. This is very unexpected. I mean, I hadn't intended this," she said, a bit nervously.

"Which bit? The offer for an official business partnership, or this other sort of partnership we've established?" The amusement was unchecked, his eyes nearly dancing with mirth.

"Either, really," Hermione replied bitingly. "It's just a bit sudden, is all. I hadn't any idea your business was so extensive. I mean, I've seen what you and Fred created, and you'd mentioned that it was profitable and such, but this is rather more than I was prepared for. I didn't do any of this for a partnership, George."

He held up his hands to stop her defensiveness. "Oi, I know that. Take some time to think about it, yeah? The offer's not going away. There's a whole packet Bill helped arrange that you can study that lays it all out there." George reached out and gently took her hand in his. "It's partially a thank-you, but it's more than that. I think you are bloody brilliant and I want you to stay here."

"Right," Hermione said, taking a deep breath. "Let me study things tomorrow, and give me some time to think about it."

"That's all I'm asking you to do," he said, seeming far more relaxed than when he had brought it up. They were quiet for a moment, and then George laughed.

"What? What is so funny, then?" Hermione demanded.

"Only that if we do this, we're definitely going to have to learn to keep business and pleasure separated. I think I've killed the mood," George said, a bit ruefully.

"Well," Hermione said thoughtfully, "There is a way to fix that. Takes a good deal of practice though, y'know."

"Oh?" George asked, playfully, hopefully. "I suppose you'll have to tell me all about it."

"Oh no, Georgie," Hermione said with a wink. "Show, not tell."

George laughed and leaned forward to pull Hermione close to him. They smiled at each other, relaxed, comfortable, and George kissed her lips lightly, once, then twice, and then he leaned back, eyes twinkling.

"How am I doing, then?" he inquired.

"Oh, not a bad start, I'll grant you," Hermione replied airily.

"Can't ignore a challenge like that," George said, and he kissed her in that way he had, without abandon, filled with enthusiasm, and desire. All thoughts of continuing to tease him were gone in an instant, and she allowed him to direct the kiss, giving herself over to that moment, enjoying being with him.

George liked being physically demonstrative with Hermione, it was the area they were most defined, and in his opinion, the thing they were best at together. It had been a while, since before the store re-opened, since they had had a leisurely night in together. As things between them grew deeper and more intimate, they also grew busier and more tired and the frenzied need that marked their early encounters was lessened or pushed aside. George had come to appreciate the sex or other physical interaction they shared now as a way to feel more reconnected to Hermione. Tonight especially was important to him, given the business offer he'd just laid before her.

If his goal was to remind Hermione that whatever business arrangements they worked out were only one aspect of their strange partnership, he was more than succeeding. His kisses had captured her attention, and now his hands traced her cheek, grazed along her jaw, skimmed her collarbone and his lips followed, making her exhale with a mixture of anticipation and satisfaction. That breathy sound was one George always enjoyed producing, and it urged him on. It was not long before their clothes were shed and he was teasing her, deliberately avoiding touching the areas she was clearly most longing for contact in favor of nipping gently at her shoulder now, and then tracing an intricate pattern on her stomach, on a thigh.

Hermione might have been annoyed with what she knew was the equivalent of taunting her, but she couldn't stop the small shudders of pleasure, or the way her body seemed to thrust itself towards wherever George's hands happened to be. The moan she couldn't contain when he finally ceased his torment and began lavishing attention on her breasts made him smile, but also surged through him, pushing him closer to her as well. Hermione was less provoking than he, for which he was infinitely grateful, as she took his erection into her capable hands. George had planned originally for this foreplay to last a long while into the night, but Hermione's actions changed his mind. Bloody hell, they had the entire night anyway, and it wouldn't be their only go. Plenty of time for playfulness and teasing later, as far as he was now concerned.

George's touches became more firm and purposeful, and they had been shagging long enough to know what would produce the quickest and most intense response in each other. Hermione dimly recognized the change in George's attitude, but was too lost in her reaction to do much but bite back her moans as her orgasm washed over her in waves. She managed to gasp out a muffled "Please!" to George, and he was eager to slide into her warm depths. He was in no mood for soft lovemaking, his thrusts fast and not especially gentle. Hermione kept pace with him, exclaiming softly after a particularly enthusiastic thrust hit at the right angle for her. George immediately shifted to continue that angle for her and it did not take long before she was crying out in a second orgasm as powerful as the first, pulling him along with her. He shuddered into her, and collapsed to his elbows, resting there for a moment while they both tried to catch their breath.

"Bloody fucking brilliant," he finally muttered as he slid out of her body, and rolled to the side. Hermione laughed aloud at his assessment, but indicated her agreement in principle by scooting to curl up next to him, where he immediately wrapped her up in an a comforting embrace. "You are dangerously good at that, y'know."

"Dangerously good? And not so bad yourself," Hermione replied, sounding amused.

"Yes, dangerous. Like an addictive potion. I could stay here with you forever, which is rather a dangerous sort of concept," George said, tickling her lightly.

"Yes, if nothing else, your mother descending upon us in concern to find you pleasuring me in your bed is a terrifying sort of thought," Hermione said dryly.

George shivered in dramatic fashion. "Right, if there is one thing I hope you learn from our sexual relationship, Hermione dear, it's never to mention a wizard's mother in bed. And here I thought I was a mood killer." Hermione chuckled, and silence descended over them for a few moments. "Knut for your thoughts, love," he finally said to break it.

"I was thinking about your offer," Hermione replied frankly.

"Really, there's no rush. I hadn't really intended to bring it up tonight. Just look it all over tomorrow and take some time to think about it," he said practically.

"No, I don't think so," she said, sounding quite decisive. "This is ridiculous, but I'll do it. I mean, of course I want to read over the papers before I sign them, but if it's all in order as you explained, I'll agree to it."

George pushed himself up to look down at her disbelievingly. "Are you serious? Just like that?"

Hermione sat up more slowly, making sure the sheet was still wrapped about her before nodding. "Just like that. You must be rubbing off on me."

George gave a surprised laugh, but his eyes were serious. "Really, you should look it all over and make sure that you comfortable with this."

"It's a really good offer, George. And you said that I'll retain half my share if I want to do something else, so there really can't be that much more to consider, can there? It doesn't lock me in here indefinitely or hold me back if I decide to go into the Ministry or anything. I doubt a better offer will ever come along."

"I knew I was good in bed, but I'd no idea I was that good," George mused and Hermione smacked his chest, causing him to laugh.

"You are such a bloody git sometimes," she said, but her voice was without rancor. Still, she slid away from him and out of the bed altogether. "I think we could use some food. Certainly a drink. Would you like to take care of that while I take a shower?"

"Sure. Leftover chicken fine with you?" George asked, pulling on his lounging clothes.

"Course. It's too bad we've not got any wine, but I suppose we'll make do." Hermione crossed over to the other side of the bed, where George had just pulled on his previously discarded t-shirt. She leaned up and kissed him softly on the lips. "I really, really enjoy evenings with you, George, especially nights like this."

She squeezed his arm and departed for the loo before he could form a response. The gentle smile on his face remained in place until she joined him in the lounge to eat.

-o0o-

Later, much later, that night, Hermione found herself wrapped in George's arms, nearly dozing, as he played with her hair. They were quiet now, and Hermione's thoughts wandered pleasantly without focus. Something small that George had said earlier occurred to her and she tossed it about for a moment before turning a little to rest on her side, facing him.

"George?" she said quietly.

"Yes, love?"

"You said earlier, something about being your partner. Not the business, but in other ways. What did you mean?"

George frowned a moment, a far away look in his eyes as she tried to remember the conversation precisely. "I meant what I said. You're my flatmate and my partner in the shop and the workroom, and my bedmate and the person I'm shagging. Why?"

"It's just . . ." Hermione hesitated.

George shifted to prop his head up and study her. "What is it? You look nervous."

"It's that muggles often use that term to describe a couple who aren't married but are serious. Often living together. It's most frequently used by homosexual couples, but also by people who find the terms boyfriend and girlfriend too juvenile or less appropriate to their situation," Hermione said, unconsciously adopting the prissy, lecturing tone she used frequently back at Hogwarts to explain a concept. George smiled faintly at that echo from worlds past, amusement at a flash of how that tone had irritated him and his twin.

"I didn't know that," was George only reply, traces of amusement in his voice.

"No reason you should, it's a very progressive sort of term. I just wondered. . ." Hermione trailed off.

"Tell me," George said softly.

"We agreed to just take it a day at a time. You said, and you had a fair point, that having a label didn't make anything more certain, and that we had skipped over a fair amount that happens in a more normal relationship. But our lives are pretty intertwined at this point, don't you think?"

George merely nodded, waiting to see where she was going.

"I guess, well, partners maybe is the best word for us, the best definition. In the muggle relationship sense, I mean. I don't know where this is going. I want to be with you, and I'm happy with this, as things are. I don't want to call it something else or pretend it's something it's not. We're more than dating." Hermione stopped abruptly, and bit her lip.

George tucked a stray curl behind her ear, and traced his thumb over her cheek. "I think partners is a good word. I'm comfortable with partners."

"Right. Okay. So. Now what?" Hermione asked.

"Seal it with a kiss?" George said, a grin spreading across his face, and Hermione couldn't help laughing.

"Better than a handshake, I suppose," she agreed.

George pulled her closer, and leaned down towards her. "It is how this all began, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically before kissing her with a lingering, enticing kiss.

"So I guess this means we're not really keeping it a secret anymore?" he asked when they broke apart.

"I guess there is no reason to do so, but I guess I'd still rather not send out notices or make big announcements," Hermione said firmly.

George raised an eyebrow at her. "Why is that?"

"I rather like things the way they are. I suppose if people find out, they do. That's fine. I just don't want to make a fuss over it. We've gotten on well to this point."

"But if I decide I want to put an arm around you or kiss you, I can?" George asked, wanting clarification.

"Yes, if you like. I've not been keen on public displays of affection though. Won-won and Lav-lav pretty well ensured that," she said dryly.

"I seem to recall you once stopping me on a street in the middle of the bloody street to snog me," he shot back, and she laughed.

"True. But I am not comfortable snogging in front of your family," she said.

"Of course not, silly girl. That's what we sneak out of the Burrow to do," George said as if it were obvious.

"Did you ever?" she asked, feeling some curiosity. "Sneak out to snog, I mean."

"Course we did," George scoffed. "Fred was pretty daring, even snuck a couple of girls in. You just have to watch the stairs what squeak. Mum sleeps like she's under a potion, most nights."

"So who did you sneak out to meet then?" Hermione asked, snuggling up to his chest again.

"Ah, well, Alicia Spinnet for one. She was the most frequent. And then, of course I went out on some, dunno what to call them, double-dates maybe, with Lee and his friend and her friend."

"Double dates? Why is that a difficult concept?" Hermione asked, lips curving into a smile.

George looked faintly embarrassed. "Well, for one, Lee and Mavis weren't dating so much as fucking. And I wouldn't call what Viola and I did dates, really. We'd all meet together and then go off and fool around. It was fun, but never serious."

"Just how many witches have you fooled around with, Mr. Weasley?" Hermione asked in a rather amused tone.

"Er, a fair few. I don't think I could give you a number. I know there were a few nights involving parties at Lee's and a good deal of firewhiskey before things got bad. Can't clearly remember most of those nights, to be honest."

"I see. Of course, I expect the number isn't terribly high if Fred had to ask women out for you," she mused, teasing him.

"Oi! That was when we were young! I did just fine on my own, I'll have you know. Never got any complaints anyway," he said sulkily.

"You are perfectly good in bed, George. Better than good, actually. I'm having you on. Come on, darling, let's go to sleep. It's late already, and we're opening at normal time tomorrow." Hermione cradled George's face in her hands, and looked at him with a look he'd never received from a witch before, full of affection and gentleness. His smile in return was not the mischievous grin that she was used to seeing from the Weasley twin, but soft, and sweet.

A barrier between them that neither had been fully cognizant of had fallen.

-o0o-

"Well done, Georgie," came an approving, sly voice.

George blinked and realized he was once again in the place of his dreams where he met Fred. Indeed, his departed brother was relaxed in an armchair, a pint of ale in his hands. Fred grinned, a Cheshire cat grin, and dipped his head to the chair opposite him, and a fresh pint on the table beside it.

"Don't mind if I do," George said, suiting action to words. "Been awhile."

Fred shrugged. "You've been busy. And tired. Your sleep has been awfully deep to remember dreams. Why should I bother showing up if you can't be arsed to remember it? I'm a memorable chap."

"How are you?" George asked hesitantly.

"By which you mean, am I real, is this real, et cetera? Well, I can't tell you that, George, it would give up the game, and as you've pointed out to your new curvy partner, it doesn't much matter then, does it?"

Fred raised an eyebrow, his voice airy in a way that was always able to irritate George.

"Fine. Fair enough, I said those words. I still miss you," he said, belatedly realizing he hadn't intended to.

"I know. I can hear you when you talk to me. I'm really proud of you, you know. The shop is going gangbusters, innit? And that new shop assistant, the brunette? She's a looker." Fred winked at George. "But then, you've only got eyes for a certain former prefect, haven't you?"

"I think you would know all about that, Forge," George said dryly, taking a long drink from his pint.

"Yeah, which only goes to show I've got more discerning tastes than you, eh? I spotted the potential there years ago. I'd ask if she's good in bed, but no one shags as much as you lot if it's not brilliant."

"I've done the right thing, haven't I?" George asked suddenly, looking at his mirror image searchingly.

"What do you think?" Fred asked seriously.

"It feels right. I need her. But it's more than that. I want her to be with me, I want her to be happy. I know she wouldn't have been if she were completely dependent on me or tied to me. She's brilliant, moreso than we ever imagined. She could do a lot with the business, but she can do so much more beyond that if she wants to do," George said, unaware of the tiny bit of awe creeping into his voice.

"Course she can, she's our Hermione, innit she? You've come a long way, Gred. You're doing better," Fred said, his voice a little sad.

"Why do I sense a but here, brother mine?" George said wryly.

"She still needs help. Doesn't really know it yet, or she pushes it aside, but there is still a lot there, under the surface. And you too. I know it's been hard. And will be hard. Just keep trying, Georgie."

There was a definite tone of sadness, maybe regret.

"Forge, what are you talking about? You sound like you're saying -" but George bit down on the word, feeling a rising panic in his chest, a tightness in his throat that made it hard to breathe.

"No, no. Never good-bye, mate. I'm always near you, whether you realize it or not. You're Gred and I'm Forge, after all. Relax." And George did, though he couldn't have said why. "Now tell me, why haven't you pranked Harry yet? I know he's the Savior of the Wizarding World and Defeater of Dark Wizards and all, but he's shagging our baby sister. You've got our reputation to maintain, brother."

The twin brothers, one dead and one alive, grinned identically evil grins, and laughed together.

-o0o-

George woke, smiling, feeling a sense of contentment he'd not felt since, well, probably not since Fred had died. He didn't remember all of his dream, but he knew he'd had another in which Fred visited him, and it had left him feeling soothed. Any doubts about his arrangements with Hermione had gone. Unfortunately, so had she. It took him a moment to get oriented, but she wasn't in their bed.

George frowned momentarily, but it wasn't wholly unusual for her to be up before him. The fact that it was still dark outside though was unusual. Hermione didn't typically wake until the sun was out, and there were no sounds coming from the loo. Feeling mildly concerned, George got out of bed, pulling on his previously discarded lounge clothes. There were no lights on in Hermione's bedroom, so he continued to the lounge, where he found Hermione curled up in a ball in the armchair.

She looked up at his approach, tear tracks glittering on her cheeks. She gave him a defiant look, wiping her eyes quickly with her fingertips, as if to hide the evidence of her solitary sadness. George cocked his head at her, but didn't approach her, instead choosing to head to the kitchen, where he began to make tea. He ignored Hermione, but cringed a bit to hear muffled sobs behind him. Still, when he set down a steaming mug before her, she seemed somewhat more composed. He sat down on the couch, leaving a space for her, should she want to take it, but didn't talk, just sipped at his too-hot tea.

Hermione was the one to break the silence. "Don't you want to know?"

"Of course, but only if you want to tell me," he responded. She sighed a little at that, but got up from the chair and settled herself into a ball that pressed into his side, wrapping her hands protectively around the cup, as he settled his arm protectively around her. Silence fell again, George pondering his recent dream, feeling as if Fred had tried to warn him about something, but what that was, he couldn't say.

"I still miss them," Hermione whispered. "Today's my dad's birthday. I'd forgotten, you see, but I dreamt of them. Most of the time I don't think about them. I did what I had to do, to keep them safe. But sometimes I can't think it was for the best after all. I mean the Order helped Harry's awful relatives, they could have hidden my parents, I suppose. Or I could have helped them to Australia without altering their memories, but I thought they'd be safer if they couldn't remember me. I mean, we couldn't have kept in contact and they'd have tried to come back and if anything had happened to me, or if we'd lost, well. . ."

Her voice trailed off, and George hugged her close. "Of course you miss them. They're your family."

"On birthdays, my mum always woke up early to make special pancakes. That's what I was dreaming of, her apple cinnamon pancakes. I could smell them, but when I ran downstairs, my parents ignored me. They saw me there, but they pretended I wasn't there. I might as well have been invisible."

Hermione was shaking, and he could feel it. George set his tea down and gently tugged her mug out of her hands, wrapping both his arms more securely around her, as she started to cry once again. He didn't talk, he didn't try to tell her that she was wrong or that she'd done the right thing. He just rocked her back and forth as she wept, feeling his own heart constrict at witnessing this misery she so rarely admitted feeling. She clung to him, leaving a wet spot on his chest, but eventually, her cries subsided to whimpers and then an occasional sniffle. Wordlessly, George handed her a now cool mug of tea and conjured a handkerchief for her, which he used to gently dry her face.

"Thank you, George," she whispered.

"I'm always here for you, love," he replied softly. "I'm sorry about your dream, that you miss them. I wish I could do something."

"There isn't anything. I made my choices and I have to live with them," she said dejectedly.

"It doesn't mean you can't mourn them or be sad about them. And it definitely doesn't mean you need to hide it from me. You can tell me anything. I'm not going to judge you for it," he said seriously.

"I just wonder what they'd think of this. Of you. Of course, if they were here, none of this would have happened. I'd be staying with them now, most likely," she said pensively.

George shrugged. "Maybe. You really weren't spending a lot of time with them before you sent them to Australia though. Why is that?"

"Well, there was everything with Harry, of course. And they didn't really understand a lot of what was happening. I tried to explain, but even innocent things sound dangerous, you know? They were jumpy about me using magic, and didn't understand the different customs, like being an adult at seventeen. I think they tried hard to appreciate the opportunities and abilities I had, but we were more like strangers that last bit of time," she said sadly.

"It's possible, Hermione, that might have continued. I know of a few muggleborns who maintain ties with their families, but not many. The Statute of Secrecy makes things very difficult, and the worlds can be so far apart."

"Are you trying to suggest that a clean cut is easier?" she asked in a frosty tone.

"Not at all. Obviously, what you are struggling with isn't easy in the least. But I am saying that you shouldn't, I dunno, romanticize what life would be like if they'd never been sent away. The likelihood is that they've have been tracked, tortured and killed. You saved them that. I just don't want you to torture yourself with imagining every possible good scenario and never acknowledging the dangers inherent in the situation."

Hermione was quiet. "I miss them, George. I miss my past with them, I am sad that they'll never get the chance to express any opinion about you or about who I am and what I'll do. You talk about Fred not being there for the big moments. It's not that so much, though it's a part of it. It's knowing they are out there somewhere and totally unaware of me, and I did that. It's not knowing if they are happy or not."

"I understand," he said, and that was all he could say. Hermione sighed, but nestled into his chest. It was just beginning to lighten outside when he realized her breathing had evened out and she'd fallen asleep. Very carefully, very tenderly, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into their bedroom. He lay her down gently, covering her and pressing a kiss to her cheek. She made a murmuring noise, but didn't wake, too spent by the night's emotions.

George was tired too, the brief hours of sleep not enough to leave him rested, but now he was awake and too restless to lay down again. He went back into the lounge and cleared away the cups, washing them quickly, putting away the tea things. He stood at the window for a bit, watching the light filter into ever lightening shades of grey and felt an urge to go home, to talk someone about the things on his mind. George gave it little thought, summoning some parchment and scribbling a note that he'd gone to the Burrow and would return shortly in case Hermione awoke, which he rather thought she wouldn't. Then gripping his wand, turning on the spot, he vanished.

-o0o-

It was pre-dawn, but George rather thought that someone would be up, and he was correct. His dad was in the kitchen, tinkering with a muggle gear of some kind. Arthur looked unsurprised to see his son, simply smiling up at him and nodding towards a chair at the table.

"Couldn't sleep?" Arthur finally asked.

"No, I was all right for awhile, but Hermione was up," George said with a shrug.

"Ah, yes. Hermione. How is she?" Arthur said, not commenting on the implications of George's statement.

"Worn out. Sad. Today's her dad's birthday. She said she was dreaming of them. Second guessing her decisions. She misses them terribly," he said pensively.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "That's not something she lets on about." He turned the gear over his hands, peering at it as though trying to make out an internal mechanism he couldn't quite see.

"No. She tries to be strong. I think she feels guilty about missing them or mourning them because they're alive and Fred's dead. Not that it makes any difference, they may as well be dead since they won't be coming back and don't know her at all."

"I suppose it's good she can talk to you about it," Arthur said, a heaviness in his voice that George didn't miss.

George felt as if he were very young again, sitting at this table with his father in the early morning. It's something he had done many times as a child, often without Fred. With so many children about and the long hours his dad worked, it could be hard to have time alone with him. Normally he didn't mind, he had Fred to keep him company; but there had been times that George sought out his father, and now, tracing his finger over the faded pattern of the worn tablecloth, he felt that way again.

"I dunno. She can, if she wants, but she rarely does. I wish I could help her. She saved me," he said simply.

"Which was more than your mother and I could do. I'm sorry, son. We should have done more for you, but it was a relief that you seemed to be holding together so well. We weren't, really, so believing you were was easier, but Albus always said that what is right isn't always easy," sighed the tired older man. Arthur wiped his hand over his face and looked sadly at his son.

"No, Dad, that's ridiculous. I wasn't as good as I tried to be, but it's getting easier. Hermione helped a lot. Made sure I ate, stopped me drinking myself into a stupor, got me going in the shop again. Fred was my brother, but he was also your son. I didn't want to remember that when I left. Too hard to face everyone grieving, y'know? Especially knowing how much he'd have hated it." George grimaced.

There was quiet for awhile, and George spoke suddenly, in a rush. "I dream of him sometimes. I did tonight. He's dead, right? But he's still him, and we're there together, drinking and talking and he knows everything that's happening."

A ghost of a smile crossed Arthur's face. "What does he have to say about Hermione, then?"

"He was half in love with her, so he's all for us being together, if I take care of her too. He always makes sure I know she needs it too." There was a pause, then George exclaimed as he realized he'd given it away, "Oi, that's dirty pool, that is!"

"There is a good deal of speculation surrounding the two of you, and possibly a bet or two," Arther said, an expression of amusement on his face that was much like the one George had seen in his mirror-image's face.

"Yeah, well, if it'd been Fred, I'd have started the betting pool, so I guess I can't protest much," George said glumly. "I think Hermione's a little afraid of Mum, to be honest, 'specially after what happened in her fourth year with Mum reading Skeeter's articles. She doesn't want to say much. I promised her no grand announcements."

"Your secret is safe with me, son. I think that if you are there for each other, then that's a good thing. And I think you are right to notice that Hermione's got some issues of her own to sort out, and it's good you're giving her a safe space to do that." Arthur tried to finagle a piece of metal into a small hole in whatever he was holding while George watched him.

"Dad? How did you know I'd come by this morning?" George asked, hesitantly.

"Just a feeling, George. I always had a feeling about when you'd sneak down to see me. It's not talked of much, but fathers have intuition as well," Arthur said complacently. After a moment's pause, he added, "You know, I remember the first time you came down here to see me. You were about four years old, determined to be a big boy like your brothers, but still clutching that teddy bear you and Fred shared. Do you remember why you came down here?"

George frowned. "Only vaguely. A bad dream?"

"That's right. Usually, you'd slip into each other's beds or into our bed next to your mum, but this time, you and Mr. Snuggles crept downstairs. I was up because Ginny had been teething and restless, and I wanted something to drink. And then there you were, looking lost and frightened."

"I woke up and Fred was gone, and I thought he was missing," George recalled in a flash.

"Yes, that's right. We drank some milk together and then Fred came in, terribly cross that you'd snuck off with Mr. Snuggles. I'm still not sure how you two managed to share him so well," Arther reminisced, with a small, sad smile.

George's smile was wistful, but more broad. "It wasn't hard. Mr. Snuggles was for whoever needed him more. It was almost a contest not to need him. I think I got him most of the time, so I didn't mind so much when Fred wanted him. Besides, you're right. Half the time we were in each other's beds anyway."

There was quiet again, and the kitchen was filling with harsh orange light as day began to break.

"So why did you come, George? Intuition only takes me so far," Arthur said gently.

George shrugged. "Dunno. A feeling you'd be here, I s'pose. Feeling restless after putting Hermione to bed. I've missed you. I'm sorry for the way I behaved. I guess, seeing Hermione so upset about her father made me want to apologize to you."

Suddenly, Arthur's eyes were filled with tears, and his voice was choked up. "Oh, Georgie. Nothing to apologize for. Everyone has to deal with their individual loss in their own time and their own way. We understood that. I'm just glad you're here now."

"Maybe we could do this again sometime. Just us. Maybe have breakfast?" George's voice was tentative.

"But for now you want to get back to your witch. Of course. I'll stop by the shop and we'll make arrangements and you can show me around," Arthur said, setting aside his gadget and standing up, with a yawn. George stood too, and Arthur clapped an arm around him. "A word of advice?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Just be gentle with Hermione. And there when you see she needs it. Don't push her too hard. Grief and guilt are difficult things that get tied into a big, impossible knot. But she'll do better with you there than without you."

"Right. Thanks, Dad." George impulsively wrapped his other arm around his father, and hugged him tightly, wondering a bit when his dad had gotten so small, but feeling more peaceful than he had when he left. A few moments later, George was apparating back to his flat, thinking about how to make Hermione feel a little better.

-o0o-

Sunlight was streaming through the windows brightly by the time Hermione stirred. She felt washed out, tired, and a little confused. It was clearly well past her normal waking time; a glance at her watch from the bedside table showed it was past time for the store to be open, even. In a panic, she bolted upright, feeling a bit frantic when she realized George was sprawled out next to her.

"George!" she said a bit shrilly, causing him to startle awake. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, we've overslept. George, the shop should have been opened half an hour ago!"

She was about to scramble out of bed when a hand closed over her wrist, causing her to stop. "Oi, calm down, Hermione."

"Calm down? George!" she exclaimed.

"Hey, love, it's fine. You had a rough night, so I thought you'd like a lie-in. I owled Verity this morning and let her in and she's got things well in hand. Fred and I didn't go down every single day, especially when Order missions were frequent." He was very reasonable, and she slumped back down into the bed.

"Oh," was her only response.

"We've been working really hard for the past few weeks. A morning off isn't a terrible thing. In fact, it's something we ought to do a bit more regularly. While you were sleeping, I made brunch for you."

A small smile turned up the corners of her mouth. "Really?"

He gave an exaggerated nod. "Yes, really. I do enjoy taking care of you now and then when you let me, you know," he teased.

She merely sniffed in response. "All right. That's allowable. But only now and then."

"That's my independent witch. Breakfast in bed or at the table?" he asked, getting up from the bed.

"I'll come to the table. Just let me put on some sort of clothing." Before he could leave the room, Hermione reached for him, pulling him into a spirited kiss. "Thank you for that. You're right, I needed a lie-in after last night."

George dropped a light kiss on the tip of her nose, before saying in a lazy drawl, "Hermione, at some point you'll come to understand that I am usually right." He scurried out of the room before she could retaliate.

Brunch had been kept under a warming charm, and it didn't take George long to arrange it neatly on the table. He had just poured pumpkin juice and set the kettle to warm when he was surprised by a knock at the door of the flat. Frowning, he hurried to answer it, afraid Verity was becoming overwhelmed by an unexpected crowd.

Instead, he came face to face with a beaming Angelina Johnson, bearing white bakery bags and the cups with the rich aroma of coffee.

-o0o-

_A/N: I know, I know, I can practically hear the groans and see the eye-rolls. But she's persistent, what can I say? Beyond that, this chapter got very long, and I briefly considered splitting it in two, but I didn't like where it was ending. It's funny - I had an outline, but again, I seem to be diverging from it a bit. The characters have their own ideas about how this is supposed to be working and far be it from me to stand in their way. They seem to do enough of that on their own, though it's good that Hermione and George are opening up some. I hope you enjoy; already hard at work on chapter 13! Thanks all for reading, for your kind comments and PMs. I so very much appreciate you all. Cheers._


	13. Chapter 13

_Disclaimer: As stated before, I am not JK Rowling (or the 'et al' which usually accompanies her name), and therefore do not own the world of Harry Potter. My use of her characters makes no profit and intends no infringement on copyright._

-o0o-

_Chapter 13_

-o0o-

"Good morning, lazy! I came by a bit ago to see you, but Verity said you were staying in this morning. Thought I'd go get some brunch and rouse you up." Angelina pushed into the room, chattering, and not noticing the table already set for a meal.

From down the hall came a female voice, which finally stopped Angelina dead in her tracks. "George, did I hear a knock at the flat door? Who's there?" Hermione called out, rounding the corner of the corridor, pulling her hair up into a haphazard bun, so that she didn't immediately see Angelina. When she did, the friendliness left her face, and Angelina was glaring at her with such intense dislike that George half-suspected her of trying to use non-verbal magic to hex Hermione.

It was a singularly uncomfortable moment for all of them, made worse as that damned kettle began whistling its nearly indistinguishable tune. George leapt for it, while Hermione fervently wished she'd opted to wear something other than a soft, but old and nearly too small Gryffindor t-shirt and lounging trousers. Angelina, as always, was perfectly coordinated and turned out, though the positively murderous look she was currently sporting marred the overall impression.

Spinning, Angelina turned her back on Hermione and hissed to George, "Whatever is she doing here? Did she spend the night?" He practically recoiled from the heat in her voice.

Hermione gritted her teeth together; George looked alarmed, rather like a frightened kitten, and she was no fan of Angelina. She stepped forward, forcing a pleasant smile on her face. "I live here, Angelina. We were just about to have brunch, would you care to join us? With whatever you brought, I'm sure there is plenty, right, George?"

"Sure. I made more than enough for the two of us. Would you like to join us, Ange?"

"She lives here?" Angelina echoed, her voice sharp and higher than usual, her eyes never wavering from George's face. "What does that mean, exactly?"

George sighed. "She's my partner, Angelina, of course she lives here. Tea anyone?"

"Yes, please," Hermione said quietly, seating herself at the table, feeling the beginnings of a headache pulse at her temples.

"Your partner?" Angelina repeated.

"Yes, my partner. Would you like some tea?" George said slowly, hoping it could just be left at this. He didn't want any further explosions and partner was still such a vague term. It may have been cowardly, but he rather hoped she wouldn't seek further clarification.

"I don't care much for tea," Angelina finally said after staring hard at first George, then Hermione for a moment. "I drink coffee, thought you knew that. Fred always liked coffee early in the morning."

George paused, his jaw clinching momentarily. "Well, I'm not Fred, am I? Coffee's too bitter for my taste. But I appreciate the gesture. You are welcome to join us."

After hesitating a moment, Angelina sat down. George quickly flicked his wand, and an additional place setting appeared. Inadvertently, George ended up seated at the head of the table, the witches with an interest in him on either side of him, to his chagrin. He could practically hear Fred's raucous laughter from the afterlife.

Hermione was calm and collected outwardly, though she was inwardly biting off sharp, shrewish comments that kept rising on her tongue. She wasn't above admitting that she was angry that George's lovely gesture had been interrupted by this witch of all things. Persistence and loneliness were traits Hermione could identify with and empathize with in spades, but the way she continued to force herself onto George's notice grated against her nerves. She knew, though, that George had a very difficult time being blunt with her, feeling a bit of guilt for the misunderstanding she'd had with his brother, she supposed. It couldn't be more clear that he was not interested in her; Circe's songs, he looked as if he wanted to bolt.

Angelina was clearly thrown, not knowing whether to trust his words. Something was still wildly off, in her estimation, but they were sitting placidly next to each other, as if this were a totally normal thing. So, she did her best to gather her wits back to her and force a smile. She summoned the bags of pastry and set them in the middle of the table.

"Well, these are fresh from Madame Zukovskaya, and hers are easily the best in Diagon Alley. And George, you made this quiche? Looks divine."

"Thank you," George said, a trace of relief in his voice. He saw Hermione arch her brow, and he shrugged minutely. The silence that then fell was nearly deafening.

"So, why did you stop by, Angelina?" Hermione asked in the sweetest voice she could.

"Just thought it might be nice to drop in," Angelina said sullenly. "George so rarely leaves the shop, there's not much option if his friends would like to see him."

"Well, we've been pretty busy. Things will slow down after the kiddies are back at school," George said patiently. "How're things going with Quidditch?"

"I was moved up to the reserve squad, and then traded to Wimbourne. I thought you knew that," Angelina said, sounding hurt.

"Sorry, we don't get the Prophet. Focus has been on the shop. So you're with Wimbourne now? How do you like it?"

"Pretty well, actually. A sight better than Montrose. They give the lasses a fair chance anyway. If things go well, I may get to play some in the next games. The last match between the Wasps and the Arrows lasted two days, we're so well matched," she said, sounding more excited and less petulant. Quidditch was always a safe topic for her.

"That's quite impressive," Hermione said, catching George's eye and giving him the barest wink. "Do you get much interaction with the starters, or do they try to substitute all the reserves in as a unit?"

Angelina was happy enough to expand a bit more, as the topic allowed her to flaunt her superiority in this arena and to make allusions to George about the time they had spent together as teammates. Hermione continued to ask questions, with George contributing some as well, and if the meal was no less awkward for the participants, it at least passed more quickly. At the first convenient lull, after enough food had been eaten to be polite, Hermione began quietly clearing the table. George offered to escort Angelina downstairs.

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you," she said a bit stiffly when they had reached the workroom.

"No, friends are generally welcome," George said, but his voice was a shade too hearty.

"So you made Hermione a partner. I wonder what Fred would think of that," Angelina said, sounding a bit scornful. "If I recall, she tried quite diligently to interfere with your testing and business back at Hogwarts. Odd how things change."

George gritted his teeth a bit, but reminded himself that her point was one that both he and Hermione had made in the past. "Well, she was a prefect at the time, and we were technically violating rules, I suppose. But we've both changed. That's rather what happens when you go through some of the things we've all experienced. Besides, there is no question that she has been vital to the success of the shop and to re-opening. I rather think Fred would be pleased."

Angelina just sniffed in response. "Well, it's your business, I suppose. She's a nice enough girl, but really, George, hardly your type."

"My type?" he asked mildly, though his arms were now crossed defensively across his chest.

"Let's just say that you've never really gone in for brains over beauty before. Still, there's something to be said for a rebound sort of relationship, I suppose," Angelina said airily, causing George to flush with anger. "I've got to run. No worries, I won't drop in unannounced again. But you know where to find me when you inevitably get tired of your nice girl and decide you're ready for someone more your preference."

Angelina's face was hard, and the airy, unconcerned voice was undermined by the look of betrayal in her eyes. This was very much what George had feared, but he was finding now that his anger overrode any other feeling. He had certainly never sought her company and never given any indication of interest in her, so her behavior was baffling to him. Nevertheless, giving in to his anger would only aggravate the situation even further. His best option, though it was galling, was to simply let it go. So he forced a wooden smile onto his face, sure it didn't hide the disdain in his eyes, and tried to sound firm and polite.

"I think you're mistaken, Ange," he said evenly.

"About what? Your apparent interest in her? You can go on fooling yourself as long as you like, George, but I'm getting awfully tired of waiting around," she said, her voice rising.

"What are you on about? Waiting around? Go live your life, Angelina. I'm not fooling myself or anyone. I'm very happy with Hermione, she's possibly the best thing that ever happened to me," George said, at an equally high volume.

"That's just fine, George, but I _heard_ you. That day I came to arrange lunch, I heard what you said. It was clear you were falling for me. I don't know if you're simply scared or what, but I'm done. I have waited for Fred's sake, but enough is enough. I dunno if you think you owe her something or if you are trying to make me jealous or what is going on in that thick head of yours," Angelina spat at him.

A strange look crossed George's face, somewhere between regret and panic. He'd wondered at the time if Angelina had heard anything, and it appeared she had heard just enough to give her entirely the wrong impression. It didn't make him any more comfortable about the way she'd thrown herself at him, or the assumptions she'd made with only that bit of overheard thinking aloud, but it did make him feel that much more sad for her. She had taken the loss of Fred pretty hard, and was lonely and sad and under the delusion that he was more than a little interested in her. George had no idea how to respond to that, short of telling her the truth, that Fred hadn't been in love with her at all and he had been talking about Hermione all along. Given how angry she was about his relationship with Hermione, he could not imagine how furious and hurt she would be to hear news like that, and George doubted she would believe him.

The hesitation as he attempted to find an appropriate answer, combined with the look that passed over his features seemed vindication to Angelina. Her mouth twisted in a bitter smile and she said with an air of nonchalance belied by the tautness of her features, "Right. Well, when you figure it out for yourself, you let me know. But I won't just sit around waiting any longer."

She strode quickly through the workroom and slammed the door so hard that it rattled in the frame, causing him to wince.

-o0o-

George rubbed a hand over his face, feeling completely drained by that encounter, looking up with a grimace when he heard Hermione's footsteps on the stairs.

"I heard," she said quietly. "How're you?"

George shrugged. "Not the best I've ever felt, honestly."

Hermione bit her lip. "Can I ask -"

"What she overheard that makes her think I was falling for her?" George finished wryly. Hermione came the rest of the way down down the steps, nodding, but the workroom door opened a moment after a brief knock, Verity sticking her head round.

"Oh! Hermione, I didn't know you were here," she said, eyes filled with confusion, and curiosity.

"I live here," Hermione said dryly. "Or upstairs, rather."

"Oh. Right," Verity said in a tone of genuine surprise. "I just wanted to check everything was all right, George. Angelina seemed to leave rather abruptly. I'm sorry about sending her up, I did tell her you weren't available, but she was very insistent and she'd always been welcome before. . ." Verity trailed off as she began tying the loose ends together and realizing the potential implications of the sequence of events.

George waved a hand dismissively. "It's fine, you know we never cared about our friends coming through. How is business?"

"Brisk, but manageable," Verity replied quickly.

"Excellent. I'm trying to talk Hermione into taking a day off after we finish going through some paperwork. Just come knock us up if you need us. If things get slow, I'd appreciate it if you could have Juliana start in on inventory."

"Sure thing, boss," she said cheerfully, carefully closing the door behind her.

"She really didn't know I live here?" Hermione said sceptically.

George shrugged. "It is possible, you know. She probably guessed, though. Maybe she thought we wouldn't admit it, but that cat is well out of the bag now. Want some cocoa? I think I want some cocoa."

Hermione pursed her lips at what seemed like a delaying tactic, but she could feel the waves of tension radiating from George, and truly, if they were going to have a conversation about this, she'd rather do it comfortably upstairs where they were less likely to be interrupted. "Yes, that's fine. Come along, then."

Hermione flopped into the arm chair she preferred as George rid himself of some the nervous agitation he was feeling by the soothing ritual of heating the milk and making the warm drink. He brought two large mugs over and carefully sat down and began talking without waiting for a prompt from Hermione.

"She came by that day I cleared out Fred's things. Remember? Well, you didn't see her, of course, you were upstairs getting ready for lunch and I was downstairs checking potions. Sometimes, when I'm alone, I sort of talk to Fred, like." He felt his ear growing warm, but Hermione simply nodded. "Right. Well, I was sort of talking to Fred, and I said something about how much I missed him, but that it was easier with you around. That I couldn't imagine you not being here anymore, that sometimes I expected him to walk in but I always saw both of you there. I said something like he'd always had it bad for you, but I definitely understood it now." His ear was definitely warm now, as were his cheeks; Weasleys always did blush at inconvenient times.

"But if you were talking of me, then why does she think it was her?" Hermione said, sparing him any teasing about his thoughts at the time.

"I think she didn't hear all of it. I think I only used your name once. Since she thinks Fred was going to propose to her, it's not shocking that she assumed I was talking about her." George took a long swallow of his cocoa. "I'm really sorry, Hermione. I didn't know what to say to her at that point."

Hermione gave a small shrug. "Your options were limited. It's quite all right."

"I feel sort of wretched. I should've, I dunno, defended you more."

"What do you mean?"

"I chickened out of saying anything because I didn't want to hurt her, but that lets her think that she's right. She isn't right, Hermione. I'm not at all interested in her. Please believe me," he said, sounding rather distraught.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I do believe you, don't worry. You've made it quite clear to me how you feel about Angelina. And even if you hadn't, you look like a frightened krup when she's around, it's quite sad really."

"I'm not quite that pathetic, I hope," he said wryly.

"Pathetic, no; transparent, yes. Really, the only thing you could have done was shatter her illusions about how Fred felt about her, and only on a hunch of yours. That would have been cruel."

"I suppose so. I guess I'd been hoping to avoid a scene like this. And your relaxing morning off went to hell. I'm sorry. This day has been for shite so far," George said dejectedly.

"You couldn't have predicted it. It's the thought that counts, and the thought was more than lovely," Hermione said, reaching out and wrapping her hand around George's. "I'm not sure about taking an entire day off though. I feel like we're too low on fake wands and dancing chickens."

"We've been at it non-stop for ages. We can't afford to skive off too often, Merlin forgive me for actually saying those words out loud. But you're clearly tired and worn down, and I think it would do us some good to spend some time away from here, or at the least, away from the workroom."

"So what do you have in mind exactly?" Hermione asked, a small smile visible.

"Dunno. Maybe we should go somewhere and be lazy for a bit. We could pop down to the beach if you like, have a swim, lie in the sun. Or I'll let you drag me to some horrifyingly boring museum and lecture me about art. Or we could go shopping and buy you some new clothes. Or perhaps, I'll make your wildest dreams come true and take you for an afternoon at Flourish and Blotts." His tone was thoroughly teasing, but it made Hermione laugh lightly.

"Why on earth do you think I need new clothes?" she asked, with some amusement. "That's a terribly odd suggestion for a chap to make."

"I thought witches liked shopping. Certainly, Ginny can't seem to get enough. And I know for a fact that you don't own many clothes at this point, after your little jaunt through the woods. And I know that you haven't spent any money on yourself in ages."

"Yes, well, I haven't got any money, George," she said mildly.

"Are you going to sign the partnership papers?" he asked pointedly.

"When I've had a chance to review them properly, I expect to do," she replied, raising an eyebrow a bit.

"Then you'll have some money, though there isn't anything wrong with letting me treat you a bit, Granger," he said severely.

"I don't like feeling beholden," she said with a frown.

"How long have we been living together? Nearly three months? You've never let me buy you a single thing that wasn't a necessity. Live a little, darling," George wheedled.

"I can't believe you are begging me to spend your money on me. We are going to have to work out an equitable arrangement for household expenses," Hermione warned.

"Yes, all right. When you sign the papers, we'll take them personally to Gringott's and we'll see about setting up a household account, yeah?"

A strange look crossed Hermione's face. "We really are living together, aren't we? Not just living under the same roof."

"Er, yeah, that's sort of been the case for awhile," George said with some confusion.

"No, I mean, of course we've been living together. It's just becoming more . . . real? Or formal, maybe, is a better term to describe it. We're going to open an account together."

"I guess we don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable, it just seems the easiest thing to do." George sounded puzzled.

"No, no, it's fine. Probably stupid of me. I'm just, dunno, pleased about it, I suppose," she said, a bit shyly.

"Right," George said, suddenly clearing his throat, but squeezing her hand tightly for a moment, as if to say that he understood what she was getting at. "So review the papers, and then a trip to Gringotts and some shopping, yeah?"

She nodded, and he summoned a slim folder and handed it to her, and watched a bit anxiously as she reviewed the contents. It was very much as he'd told her, though even a quick mental calculation of the actual numbers involved made Hermione's eyes widen. Even at fifteen percent, she would be set for life after a few years, if the store continued well. Even if it didn't, the other holdings would provide at least a small income. The mass orders from the Ministry and from St. Mungos had been more than lucrative, and if they began them again. . .

"Is this accurate?" she squeaked.

George merely chuckled. "Yeah. We did all right for ourselves, despite our limited educational ambitions. Course, that was part of the plan all along."

"Let me sign these then," she finally said, feeling her stomach fluttering. George summoned a self-refilling quill and handed it to her with a flourish. She picked it up, but then set it down again, looking at George searchingly. "Are you sure about this, George? This is binding, you know. A very big step."

George's hazel gaze was steady. "I am certain. Absolutely, positively. You are the best partner, business and otherwise, I could hope for next to Fred."

Hermione drew a deep breath. "Right. Well, then," she said and signed her name in her neat script, causing the parchment to glow a greenish color.

"All set then, partner?" George asked in a cheeky tone.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes. We can go."

-o0o-

Gringott's took less time than Hermione might have anticipated. Once the paperwork was handed over to George's vault manager, she was granted access to the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes vault and after a quick word, a secondary vault was opened to which they both had access, for household expenses. George asked if she preferred her own as well, but she shook her head for now. It was easy enough to keep track of what in each belonged to her, and the goblins eyed her malevolently, probably because they remembered that she was one of the wizards who had broken in and escaped with a dragon. Better not to push it any farther, if she could avoid it, in her opinion. George finished up by withdrawing a fair sum of funds and having an additional large sum converted to Muggle currency for each of them, and then tugged her along out into Diagon Alley.

She was still wary of lingering overly long in the open, wary of potentially dangerous people, and was relieved when they reached Madame Malkin's, though George's enthusiasm for their errands was catching. Any awkwardness Hermione felt about shopping for clothes with George was eliminated by George's determination not to let Angelina ruin their day off. He urged Hermione to try on several more revealing robes, whispered inappropriately lewd comments that only she could hear and generally made her roll her eyes and press her lips together to keep from laughing.

In the end, she purchased very little, only a two sets of casual robes and a good quality cloak and witches hat, at George's insistence that every witch needed such a set. George was talked into purchasing a new set of casual robes as well, and new socks, at Hermione's insistence. When Hermione pointed out that she still tended to wear muggle clothing, finding it more comfortable, George offered to take her into London to shop more, and they agreed to venture to the little Indian place they'd gone before and shop after a lunch there. In the meantime, George led Hermione enthusiastically down the Alley to Flourish and Blotts.

Hermione really did love the bookstore, but she had a great deal more fun watching George's excitement about taking her. He was very pleased with himself, dragging her across the store from one display he thought she'd like to another, searching out books she might enjoy, adding just about anything she expressed passing interest in to his pile to purchase. It was not, perhaps, how she generally preferred to shop for books, no leisurely browse through and agonizing choice between one or two options, but it was fun anyhow, for an hour anyway. After that, Hermione tried to convince George that she was done and was ready to go into London. It took some doing, but he was finally persuaded, mostly by the offer for Indian food, and Hermione's new books were shrunk down and safely stowed in her pockets not long after.

They walked the length of Diagon Alley, into the Leaky Cauldron and out into muggle London hand in hand. The sun shone, for once, and it was a lovely day. George was more competent amongst muggles than most wizards, given how often he ventured into muggle areas to shop, but he'd never ventured onto the Underground or bothered shopping for clothes, and had no idea where to go. Hermione, of course, was much more comfortable, having grown up in the muggle world, and she gently directed George until they reached a large mall Hermione vaguely remembered. It made her amused to see George's barely disguised interest, it was so like his father.

His arm encircled her waist and she smiled at him, and he grinned at her. It seemed, for a moment, that nothing could touch their pleasure in each other, if they didn't want it to.

-o0o-

The store was in full busy mode when George and Hermione returned from their excursion. Verity seemed hassled, and George and Hermione exchanged glances. "We're low on Fever Fudge and trick wands," Verity called out. "Juliana couldn't find more, and I've not had a chance to go down to the storeroom."

"I've got it," Hermione said, handing her purchases to George to take upstairs.

"No, no, you are supposed to be relaxing," George said stubbornly.

"Well, take these upstairs, and I'll be up there relaxing quickly," Hermione said mildly.

George sighed, but took her parcels as Hermione stuck her head round the door and called for Verity.

"Is it just the Fever Fudge? Anything else?" she inquired.

"Fever Fudge is out, and we're down to two more boxes of Nosebleed Nougat. Popular stuff, though you'd expect the professors would be onto it by now."

"Yes, I think George intends to put out a new line before Christmas for that reason. Still wants testing though," Hermione said thoughtfully; Verity's point was good. George really did need to get back to development.

She realized Verity was hovering there, biting her lip. Hermione raised an eyebrow in question. "I didn't realize you and George were . . . I mean, neither of you said, and if I'd known I wouldn't have let Angelina . . . I am sorry."

"It's really fine, Verity, don't concern yourself over it. We haven't exactly taken out an advert in the Prophet or anything."

"Right. Well, if you need anything. . ." Verity trailed off, and turned back to the store. Hermione shook her head, feeling some amusement, and headed down into the storage area to find the missing product.

George joined her a short time later; she had already located a box of fake wands and was taking stock of the Skiving Snackbox inventory. She needed to do up some new product tomorrow but they weren't as low as she'd feared.

"This was a nice day, George," she said. "Thank you."

"Well, the beginning maybe could have been better," George said ruefully, but the smile Hermione gave him quieted his protest.

"I need to do more Fever Fudge tomorrow, and you probably need to do a full inventory so I can prioritize whatever else we are dangerously low on," Hermione commented idly, scanning the shelves to find the Nosebleed Nougat. Things had gotten a bit disorganized down here, to her chagrin.

"Will do, Hermione," George said patiently.

"And then I think you need to work on development. I know you were eager to get back to that, and now is as good a time as any, I think. If you set some time aside for it, and we manage until school starts, I think we could begin to take some of those large-scale orders on."

"Interest you, do they?" George said keenly.

"Yes. I think there could be a couple of tweaks to the recovery portions of Skiving Snackboxes that could be useful to St. Mungo's. And I want you to show me the charms for the Shielding line, I think those could be improved on as well." Hermione was thoughtful. The opportunities George had presented her with were greater than she could have imagined.

"I'll be interested to see what you come up with," he said amiably. "Listen, I completely forgot, there's a full family dinner on for Sunday. Mum floo-called while I was upstairs. Do you want to go?"

"I suppose so. Feels a bit odd."

"Why should it?" he asked in amusement.

"I don't know, logically, it shouldn't, I suppose. Just now we've established something more formal, I guess I feel a bit more nervous." Hermione sighed a bit.

"I thought you said no big announcements. So nothing will be different. Though I think it might be nice to make an announcement about your new official status with the company. That's all, and that is your decision as well, love. How much longer will be down here? I am hoping to get in some relaxation before dinner."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "About ten more minutes, and I doubt very much relaxing is what you have in mind.." George merely smirked at her, and watched as she quickly reorganized the shelves to make his inventory easier.

-o0o-

_A/N: Sorry it's been so long. This portion was finished a week ago, but I had intended it to be longer chapter. Once I crossed 9,000 words, I decided it needed to be split in two, but the site wasn't cooperating with uploads. Chapter 14 is getting finishing touches and will be available soon. This is a story I like very much and am very proud of. I hope you enjoy it as well. Cheers._


	14. Chapter 14

_Disclaimer: As ever, this story belongs to me only in as much as I conceived of any original plot. Mostly, it belongs to JKR et al. I make no money from this enterprise._

-o0o-

Chapter 14

-o0o-

Sunday dinner was loud and friendly, and seemed at first a little less strained than others had been. Hermione and George arrived together, about fifteen minutes before dinner was to be served; they were the last to arrive. Charlie was present, having gotten himself temporarily transferred to the Wales reservation so he could be with his family more. At the moment, he was involved in a conversation with Percy, apparently about dragon breeding regulations. Harry and Ron were there and seemingly very pleased to see Hermione. Ginny was involved in a conversation with Bill and her father, and Fleur was in the kitchen with Molly.

For a moment, George seemed a little lost, almost as if he were looking around for his twin, but he remembered himself, and sighed, before heading to join his father and Bill, leaving Hermione to be claimed by Harry and Ron. For the best, really, she'd not spent much time with her two best friends of late. Bill gave George a clap on the back, and his dad offered him a choice of firewhiskey or butterbeer. Feeling Hermione's gaze on him, he accepted the butterbeer, and saluted her with the bottle, to her small, approving smile.

"So," Bill started, eyes serious behind his easy smile, "you talk with Hermione yet?"

George nodded as he sipped his butterbeer.

"And?" Bill prompted.

"She signed the paperwork a couple of days ago, and it was submitted to Gringott's. Done deal," George said quietly.

Arthur looked back and forth between his sons. "Deal? What am I missing?"

George hesitated for a moment before saying, "We were going to tell everyone over dinner, but Hermione has become a partner in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

Arthur's jaw opened, then shut, before a smile appeared, looking a shade forced. "Well, that's . . . unexpected. What made you decide on that?"

George shrugged, and his shoulders seemed to sag just a bit. "A number of things. It's been pretty thoroughly considered. In the end, it was as simple as knowing that without her, the shop wouldn't have reopened, and the expansions Fred and I discussed would be a distant memory. It was high time I did something for her anyway. I'm still controlling the biggest share of the company." There was a trace of defensiveness creeping in.

"I helped him arrange it all, Dad. Georgie is a sharp businessman, you know. He and Fred really built up an impressive company, and the arrangement with Hermione is very fair, to both of them. I think they'll do well together," Bill said in a firm voice.

"Of course, of course. I would expect no less from that lot," Arthur said jovially, clapping George on the shoulder, and giving him a small squeeze, as if to say that his hesitation was not intentional. "Nice we've got something to celebrate then, yeah?"

George forced a smile in response, but was pulling back into himself. He had felt that his offer to Hermione had been quite a brilliant idea, and he'd been eager to tell his family. His father's surprise was as unexpected as George's announcement apparently was, and it left George feeling rather deflated. As for celebrating, well, George rarely heard the word without a pang for his brother. Fred always made the celebrations more vibrant, more joyful. Celebrating his replacement wasn't exactly what George had envisioned when he'd mentioned it to Hermione. For a moment, he wished she was near by, so he could hold her close and rest his head on hers briefly. But no, she was sitting on the arm of the sofa, chatting animatedly with Ron; he was here with his father and Bill. Despite their earlier conversation, he knew Hermione wasn't quite ready to announce their relationship, so he stayed where he was, hoping he would be able to sit next to her at dinner, and maybe have the comfort of pressing his leg against hers, feeling her solidness beside him.

Of course, it didn't happen quite that way. It was not long after their conversation that Molly called everyone to dinner, but Bill held George back for a brief moment.

"It was a good move, George. Given everything. You can't be upset when he doesn't know everything. Don't let it get you down, yeah?"

George felt a swell of affection for his brother, combined with irritation, a combination only siblings can appreciate. He gave his eldest brother a half-smile. "Right. Well, he does know, as we talked earlier this week about it. But he hasn't had time to consider it all. It's fine."

Bill raised an eyebrow. "He knows?"

"Yeah. She had a rough night. Left me up very early. Came by for a bit," George explained with a shrug.

Before Bill could respond, their mum appeared, hands on her hips. "Supper is on the table, and we're not waiting much longer for you two. Come along."

They both moved to the table with alacrity, George's heart sinking when he realized Hermione was surrounded by Harry on one side and Percy on the other. There was an open chair across from her, but George didn't get the impression that Fleur would take kindly to him displacing her husband, so he sank down between Ron and his mum and tried not to grimace. Dinner was fine, but he felt a bit aggrieved, given how his mother took advantage of his proximity to fuss both at him and over him. George was told he didn't come by enough, and his appearance was fretted over, and his mother alternated between questioning his housekeeping with Hermione sharing his flat and sighing over his career choice.

He wanted a firewhiskey quite badly by the time dinner seemed to roll to a close. Hermione gave him a small sympathetic smile when she caught his eye, and a wink that was promising, but she was down there, and meanwhile he was stuck here. Ron mostly focused on his own dinner, and provided no relief from their mum's worrying, and was too far to earn a share of her fretting. Charlie was across from George, and occasionally drew a comment from their mother or tried to engage George in a conversation, but to no avail. It was with relief that George watched his mum clear away their dinner plates with magic and bustle back in with a large chocolate frosted cake. As the coffee and tea pots made their way round the table, Arthur Weasley stood up and cleared his throat.

"I learned just before dinner that we've got some news to share. George, as it's your news -" Arthur made a gesture and resumed his seat. Feeling everyone's eyes turn to him in surprise and puzzlement, George cleared his throat and felt his fingers clutch at the cup in his hand, but stood up from his seat. Hermione gave him a small, encouraging smile.

"Right. Well, it is good news. I managed to convince Hermione to accept my offer of partnership. She's officially become an owner of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes." George quickly sat down, reflexively gulping some tea, as a stunned silence greeted this news.

"But . . ." Percy began, looking bewildered. "I mean, I hadn't really expected you to replace Fred. Er. Rather, I mean. . ." he trailed off into an uncomfortable silence which remained until at a nudge from Fleur, Bill spoke up.

"Congratulations, Hermione! Well done convincing her, George! I was able to stop by and see the shop, it's been absolutely teeming." His voice was loud in the quiet.

Harry was the next to speak up. "That's really, er, fantastic, guys. Congratulations."

Ron looked concerned. "Hermione? Are you sure that you want to stay on with the shop? No offense, George, I just never thought it was a long-term thing for Hermione. Always sort of thought she'd go back to Hogwarts or something."

Hermione's smile was now very tight and wooden; it felt plastered onto her face. But she spoke up. "The deal he offered was very fair, and it doesn't lock me in. If I decide I want to leave the store, then I'll give back half my shares. But really, I quite enjoy the work. It's quite challenging in both practical and theoretical ways, and George has created opportunities I never dreamed of to create things for the Ministry and St. Mungos."

Quiet greeted her statement, for a moment. Then Molly Weasley said, a frown on her face, "Does that mean Hermione will be getting her own flat then? I'm not sure it's at all appropriate for the two of you to be living together, however separate your bedrooms."

George closed his eyes briefly and Hermione's smile went from wooden to thin and brittle. There seemed to be a moment as they exchanged glances where they silently debated who would answer and how, while everyone else in the room watched in fascination. After all, the real status of their relationship had been the basis of plenty of speculation and more than one bet.

Hermione finally spoke, a forced cheerfulness in her tone. "Perhaps at some point, Molly. But I'm really quite comfortable there, and it is very convenient. There is still quite a bit of production happening before and after work, and it's nice not to have to travel when I'm done."

George spoke up now, "And I prefer the company, Mum. Hermione's an ideal flatmate. I don't think, altogether, I'm quite ready to live entirely on my own."

Molly's eyes narrowed and her mouth opened, but Arthur cleared his throat. "Well, I think it's splendid. Congratulations, you pair! Well done. I'm sure Weasley's Wizard Wheezes will continue to amaze us all. Molly, is there anymore cake? It's delicious."

Her mouth pursed, but she nodded, and the remainder of the cake was eaten in a subdued manner. George pushed his plate away, slumping in his chair, eyes down, while Hermione ate in precisely cut small bites, tasting nothing but sawdust. Their announcement certainly hadn't been greeted with the ease or enthusiasm they'd hoped for, and Hermione felt a return of the nerves she'd felt earlier. She felt justified in believing that sharing their relationship was a bad idea. No one had really objected to her helping George out, or moving into his flat, but this change in status appeared to be disturbing to them, which only confirmed that the fears she had related to Lee were founded in truth. It wasn't a good feeling to be right in this case.

And George, poor sweet George, looked absolutely miserable sitting there, slumped down. Hermione knew it was still hard for him to be around his entire family. Regular appearances at family dinners and events had made it somewhat easier, but it was evident that there were times it simply reminded him more acutely of who was missing from this gathering. And this seemed to be one of those times; she wished she had the courage to go comfort him without making this tense situation worse. The only thing she could really think to do was to go home, and hope he would follow soon. So she pasted on her smile again and leaned towards Mrs. Weasley.

"Dinner was really marvelous, thank you, Molly. I have to get back though. I had planned to do a batch of Fever Fudge before bed, and it takes at least an hour to brew and then it has to be packaged. So. . ."

"Of course. Let me just get you a package together. I did up a ham this afternoon for you both, and there are fresh tomatoes and some raspberries." Was it Hermione's imagination, or was Molly's voice cooler than usual?

As Hermione waited by the kitchen, Fleur began gathering dessert dishes, and the group wandered from the table to small clusters in the lounge. Hermione heard the sound of footsteps, and for a moment it was just George, who was still slumped at the table, and his sister in law, and Hermione.

"I zink eet is wonderful, how well you two do togezzer. I am very pleased to hear what Beel tells me about your partnersheep," Fleur said prettily. She rested a hand lightly on George's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, conveying more than her words said. George smiled up at her; he'd always gotten on well with Fleur, and appreciated her gesture now. Hermione, too, smiled at her, and held the door open for her to pass through with the plates, leaving just George and Hermione in the room.

"Well, that went well, eh?" George said, sounding morose.

"It was fine. Just a bit startling for them, I suppose. We spend so much time together in the shop that it's clear to us in a way it wouldn't be to anyone else, I suppose," Hermione said, though her voice lacked conviction. With a glance at the kitchen door, she added, "Well, anyway, we can talk more about it later. I'll see you back at the flat soon, I suppose?"

George nodded, just as his mother bustled through with one of her familiar boxes of food. Hermione took it, and received a stiff hug from Molly, and waved to George. Harry appeared at her side, offering to walk her to the apparition point. She shrugged in acquiescence.

They were a ways down from the house when he spoke, sounding very serious. "Hermione, are you certain you know what you are doing?"

"With the store, you mean?" she said, resigned to the fact of this conversation, knowing it was a long time coming.

"Sure, we can start there," Harry said.

"I know they gave you ten percent, Harry, so you must have some idea of what the company makes," Hermione began.

"It's about money? Hermione, you know I can give you whatever you need," Harry said, an edge in his voice.

Hermione sighed. "No, it's not about the money. Well, partially, it is. It's why I went to see George that day in the first place. I had no idea what I wanted to do, and I needed someplace to stay. After being out on our own, being back here was a bit stifling. Which is why I assume you moved to Grimmauld Place yourself."

Harry's blush was evident even in the moonlight, but he nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, it was a bit much, here."

"I'd intended to get my own flat, but George, well, he wasn't ready to be on his own. And while he was happy to have the help with the shop, he didn't have a great deal of liquid funds. So much of the funding is tied up in investments. He asked me to stay at the flat until he could pay me properly. I agreed."

"Right, ok," Harry said, clearly waiting for her to continue.

"Well, the thing that surprised me was that I liked it there. You've been there dozens of times. It's comfortable and George and I get on well. And the work is so much more than I anticipated. D'you know that we haven't even started in on the large-scale orders yet? St. Mungo's is asking for George to develop some potions to help reverse difficult hexes. And I think I can manipulate some of the Wonder Witch line to be used to reverse scarring from spell damage. It's really challenging, brilliant stuff."

"That sounds like something you'd be interested in," Harry said cautiously.

"Right, it is. We'll probably end up hiring someone else to take over production at some point, if these orders take off. But it's still fairly consuming right now. Anyway, George offered me a partnership, so I could have some security and freedom to make some decisions. I can work on whatever I like, and I'll always own at least a small portion of the company. It was an offer I couldn't possibly turn down."

"Goblins got you too, huh?" Harry said, a trace of humor in his voice making Hermione chuckle. "But that's not all, is it?"

Hermione hesitated. "What are you asking, Harry?"

"I'm asking what is happening between you and George. I'm not blind. I've seen the way you look at each other, and I can't think it's because you're good flatmates."

Hermione bit her lip. "Right. Yes, there's something happening. What is happening between George and I – well. We're rather beyond dating at this point, I think it's fair to say."

"Not sure I follow," Harry said with a frown.

"We're sleeping together," Hermione said bluntly. "But it's more than sex. We're, well, living together. I guess you could say we're a couple. I know this isn't shocking news to you, Harry."

"No, it's not," Harry said slowly. "I don't know, though, Hermione. I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"Well, good job it's not a decision for you to make then," Hermione said crisply.

"George isn't the same as he was before," Harry began, his tone placating.

"Of course he's not!" Hermione interrupted hotly. "And I think I know that better than you do, Harry. I'm the one who has been at his side since he moved back into his flat. I'm the one who has been woken up by his nightmares, who has held him when he cried, who has stopped him drinking himself to oblivion, who has gotten him to eat and to laugh and try living again. I think I'm the person who knows him best at this point in time."

Harry held up his hands defensively. "Right, yeah, I'm not implying that you aren't."

"Yes, he's changed. And if he hadn't, then we probably wouldn't be together. But he's not the only one who has changed, Harry. I have changed too. We've all changed." A sudden burning of tears in her eyes made Hermione stop speaking, though she glared at her friend.

"What do you mean, you've changed?" Harry asked, feeling bewildered by her snappish words.

Hermione sighed, and set the box of foods down, and sat down beside it, cradling her head in her hands. "Harry, in many ways things are better for you. You never really expected to meet Voldemort and live. No, don't lie to me. I don't think I really did either. It's why I sent my parents away the way I did. It was a panic after Dumbledore died. I wasn't thinking clearly as I should have. All I could think then was that they'd be safe and happier not knowing they had a daughter to worry over."

She paused, biting her lip in a struggle to regain control of her emotions. Harry sat down near her, offering silent comfort. It took a moment, but she began to speak again. "I never told you, did I, what Kingsley said to me? He told me, when I appealed to him to help me with the international portkeys, that it would be a mistake. That I'd have to live with the consequences of my actions. Actually no, it was much kinder and more sympathetic, but that was the underlying message. Messing about with people's memories is a fragile thing. It may be possible to reverse the charms I set, but the only way to know is to try. And if it didn't work, they'd be like Lockhart, only with no chance of recovery."

There was the quiet of a summer evening when Hermione paused. Harry said softly, "I didn't know. You just said it so matter of factly, that you were not going to be able to retrieve them, the danger was too great. I didn't think to ask, and you didn't seem to want to discuss it."

"The danger _is_ too great," Hermione said. "They would still be without protection here, even if I could fix it all. And it assumes that I hadn't mucked things up so badly when I modified their memories. I did it in such a way that they were gone in hours. Never thought about what the effect of that would be if they ever wanted to return to their life. They essentially just disappeared. Their practice has been closed for a year, our house is probably foreclosed on, things like that. I never considered it, I only thought I needed to get them gone, and quickly."

"But they are safe, Hermione. You did save them," Harry said after a time.

"Maybe. George said that as well. He understands, I think. Better than you can do. It's not just my parents though, Harry. There is a whole piece of my life that is gone now. My link to the muggle world, my past. Gone. And there is more. Things that happened during the war, it's just . . . I'm different. I see things differently now," she said, sadly.

Harry looked a little hurt. "I think we all are. But, Hermione, we're friends. More than that, you are like my sister. We've been through things together that no one else has. You can tell me these things, anything. It doesn't mean you have to get involved with George."

"Harry, you think I'm involved with George for any reason other than a desire to be? That's your concern? You think I'm fucking him because he was nice enough to give me a place to stay?" It was harder to discern whether amusement or disbelief were stronger in her voice.

"Er, no, not exactly. It's just . . . I don't understand why you are with George. I'm not sure it's a good idea. I mean, it's not obvious, you know?" Harry sounded uncomfortable.

Hermione reached out and touched his arm. "It's not obvious, but it is right. There is more than one reason, and there is a lot you don't see, that really comes down to what is between us, just him and me. We're good for each other. He . . . he makes me let him take care of me. He's kind, he's serious, he's funny, he's eager. He's completely brilliant, Harry, which is something I didn't really understand before. And he needs me. I think I need to be needed. You don't need me anymore, and Ron, well, he never did. George and I . . . it's not some youthful infatuation or crush. It's not just sex or friendship. It's deeper."

"Do you love him?" Harry asked quietly.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. Yes, of course, I do. But I'm not able to pin it down as any particular sort of love. He's just George, and I care about him very much."

"How long has this been going on?"

"Awhile," Hermione said hesitantly.

"Why haven't you told everyone?" Harry asked, more aggressively.

"Because it's no one else's business. Because we haven't been sure what it is between us, or where it's going. Because of reactions like yours," she said, with a trace of acid in her voice.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't mean to . . . I just don't want you hurt," he replied, apology in his voice.

"I'm _happy_, Harry. As I've told you more than once. At least, as happy as I can be. And I really need to get home. I've things to do tonight, you know." It wasn't true, really, but Hermione did not care to continue this discussion, not right now.

"Er, right. Yeah. I guess I'll try to come by for lunch soon, or something," Harry looked ill-at-ease, unsure if Hermione was angry with him or not.

"Yes, sounds fine. Take care until then, Harry," Hermione said, picking up the box so that she didn't have to hug him. She wasn't in the mood to make him feel better for the things he'd said and implied about her relationship with George. Things would probably smooth over before they saw each other again, this was not unfamiliar territory to them, but at the moment, she was a little hurt and a little angry.

Without another glance at him, she turned on the spot and returned to the flat.

-o0o-

George appeared even before Hermione had finished putting away the food Mrs. Weasley had sent. He helped her, without saying much. They were both quiet that night. Hermione didn't tell George of her talk with Harry, and he didn't ask, either assuming she was thinking about the same thing he was or deciding he didn't particularly wish to know what Harry's thoughts were. By some unspoken consent, they curled up together, not in bed, but in the lounge, before the fire. A cooling charm kept the room from overheating, and there was a comfort in the quiet contemplation of watching the flames in front of them. Hermione was wedged into George's side, and his arm was draped around her, holding her close.

"George?" she finally asked.

"Yes, love?"

"They'll come around, won't they?"

"I think so," George sighed.

"Would it have been worse if they knew about us being together?"

"Well, Bill and Fleur knew already, and Dad. I'm sure Harry's figured it out, so probably Ron does too. Why would it matter?"

"It's only . . . I don't want to come between you and your family. Or to lose them. They're the only family I've got left at this point," Hermione said, choking a little over the words.

"Bugger the lot of them if they don't like it, far as I'm concerned," George said harshly. "I won't let someone else dictate my life."

"Your mum is going to be upset," Hermione said flatly. "That we're living together, not married."

"Unless we're getting married or you are moving out, you'll just have to accept that she is old-fashioned about that sort of thing. And you've made it pretty clear how you feel about marriage."

"No, I don't want to get married, not anytime soon. I just hate to be a divisive force. It's not right," she said, her voice definitely shaking now.

"Hey, hey," he soothed. "It's not going to be as bad as all that. They're none of them stupid. Right, well, Ron is a bit thick and Percy can be a stubborn prat, but they aren't dim. They're all guessing about how things are already. They'll get used to it. It's not like you left Ron for me or something really awful. Bill and Fleur lived together for a few months before they got engaged, even if they tried to pretend they didn't."

"Really?" she asked, momentarily diverted.

George nodded. "Really and truly. Everything will be fine, love, you'll see."

Hermione swallowed back her fears, and laid her head back to rest on George's shoulder, drawing comfort from his presence. For his part, George could only hope fervently that she had been correct in her earlier assessment of his family's flat reaction to the news of her formal status with the shop. Because he'd meant what he'd told her – bugger them all if they were going to try to stand in the way of his happiness with Hermione. The only person whose opinion truly mattered had been Fred, and George felt instinctively that Fred would approve.

They sat together for a long time that night, in a quiet companionship.

-o0o-

A week passed, with Hermione growing increasingly more withdrawn. They'd not been in touch with George's family, and Hermione had ignored the letter Harry sent her, to George's surprise. He tried, once or twice, to ask her what was bothering her, but she never answered him directly. Hermione would smile at him, or kiss his cheek, claim there was nothing wrong, she was only thinking over whether the addition of lemon grass might not make the spot-vanisher more potent so that it could work on boils as well, or had George checked to see whether they were low on broomstick kits?

George saw through her attempts, saw her pursed lips and furrowed brow when she thought he wasn't looking, saw her slumped shoulders, and had been awoken by the return of her nightmares. But he had promised he wouldn't press her into sharing more than she was comfortable with, and he held steadfastly to that promise. Still, he was growing concerned, and there were really only a handful of people he could talk to, who knew that he and Hermione were more than business partners and flatmates. Given that he had felt his father's visceral reaction to the news of Hermione's partnership, Dad was out. Bill was a possibility, but he knew from long experience that Bill was inclined to play the role of mediator, to soothe and to defend the peace of the family. He felt Bill would listen to his concerns, but wasn't sure he'd really address them honestly. Which left Lee.

He sent off an owl, and received acceptance of his proposal two hours later. Hermione was disinterested or hadn't noticed, which made it easier. He watched her tiredly poke at a pile of rubber chickens with her wand, and noticed the shadows under her eyes, feeling a pang in his heart. George slipped off the stool he was perched and stepped to her workbench, causing her to look up, an expression in her eyes that flitted through before he could identify it. He slid his arms around her, engulfing her in a warm, safe embrace. She relaxed into it, closing her eyes briefly.

"Hey," he whispered.

"Hey," she replied, a bit listlessly.

"You looked like you could use a hug," he said.

"Probably true," she replied, with a small sigh. She rested her head against his chest momentarily, took a deep breath, then gently pushed away from him. "I'm going to try and get some more work done."

"Maybe you'd be better off taking a nap. I know you've not been sleeping well," he offered, dropping his hold on her.

"You're one to talk," she snorted. "No, I'm not tired. I'll keep working, make an early night of it. Maybe take some potion."

"We're going to have company tonight," George said abruptly.

"Oh?" she asked, returning to the chickens before her, multiplying them with _geminio_.

"Yeah, Lee owled. Hope that's all right."

"Of course. Do I need to make something special?"

"No, I'm going to go pick something up in a bit. Lee's not a particularly complex bloke, you know."

Hermione gave him a tired smile. "No, that's true enough. It will be nice to see him, it's been awhile."

George took small comfort in the fact that she looked less morose than she had done before. Still, he was relieved when Lee, cheerful and irreverent, made his appearance in the workroom.

"Hermione, love, you look a fright. Ah well, come give me a hug anyhow, so I can have done my charity deed for the day," he said with a beaming smile.

Hermione chucked a rubber chicken at his head, but allowed him to kiss her cheek when he dutifully returned it to her. "You are an utter git, Jordan," was all she said, but it was clear from her mild tone she was not angry.

"All part of my charm. And I know that deep down inside, you must have some appreciation for gits, given your insistence on being involved with this prat. Weasley, how're you?" he asked, clapping his mate on the shoulder.

"Well enough mate. How's the WWN treating you, then? Heard you reporting on the Harpies/Appleby match, not bad at all."

"Aye, it's been good. There is talk of maybe trying me filling in at the Quidditch hour once a week or so, see how it goes. But the best part of that match wasn't the Quidditch, I'll tell you straight away." Lee gave his mate a smug grin.

George's eyebrows rose. "You don't mean you finally managed to wear down Millthwap? No way. Gorgeous bird like that going out with you? You're dreaming."

"Ah, would you care to place a bet on that? Not only was I dashing and charming, I was spectacularly stunning in bed, and we're going out again after her match on Tuesday. And was I ever right about her abilities with broomsticks." The last was directed at Hermione, who was pretending not to listen in on this conversation. She gave a snort, the only sign of her attention.

"Right, well, I'd love to hear details on that, but I promised to pick up dinner, didn't I? What'll it be, then, lads and lasses? Pub fare, ethnic takeout or pizza and bitters?"

"I'm done in on pub fare, thanks, but pizza sounds all right. Or Thai," Lee volunteered, settling himself on George's stool, leaning back against the worktable, using his elbows for support.

Hermione only shrugged. Her interest in food was rather minimal this week; she'd eat whatever George brought home, with little appetite. He frowned briefly, then said with forced cheerfulness, "Pizza then. Margherita for you, Hermione? Lee?"

"Sausage and peppers," he said, curiously observing the by-play, as George gave Hermione his customary kiss, and she squeezed tightly at his hand. The fear Lee had had, that Hermione's second thoughts or conscience had ended with her losing interest in George, were pushed aside. But it was crowded aside by concern over her appearance and what George had relayed earlier via owl. She wasn't well, sure enough.

Lee gave George a wave as he left, and then turned seriously towards Hermione, his face losing all traces of humor. "What is wrong with you?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," she prevaricated.

"You aren't sleeping well, you clearly haven't got much interest in food and you seem to be moping about listlessly. You've got George concerned enough to call in reinforcements, and that alone is worrisome. Spill it, Granger."

Hermione slumped a little. "I don't know exactly, Lee. It's a lot of little things. You know George made me a partner? Gave me two thirds of Fred's shares in the company. It was a great deal for me. Only the family seemed shocked and subdued."

"Well, it's a bit discouraging, that, but it's not surprising, is it? Rather a big step for him to take, given the shape he was in a few months ago. And they don't see him everyday, yeah?" Lee reasoned.

"Yes, that's true. I think what really got to me was Molly wanting to know when I'd be moving out. She went on a bit about how inappropriate it is for us to be living together. She doesn't know about us, you see."

"Ah. Right up the alley of your worst fears, then?" he said sympathetically.

"Yes. The thing is, and George knows this, I don't want to get married. Maybe that will change at some point, but being raised in the muggle world makes it hard for me to understand the draconian marriage laws and bindings. I don't expect that Molly will be so thrilled to hear that we are living together, as a couple, with no intention of marrying."

"I don't imagine she'll be best pleased, no," Lee said, "but I also can't imagine that that has you quite so worn down and depressed, either. Come on, then. Confession is good for the soul."

"I talked with Harry after that dinner. He walked out with me, wanted to know what I was thinking about being here, about my relationship with George. None of it was really a surprise, I know he's been wanting to ask for some time." Hermione fiddled with the lid on a jar of poppy seeds for want of something to do.

"I take it the Boy-who-lived isn't a fan?" Lee asked wryly.

"Not really, no. Didn't seem much to understand that I'm not with George for any reason beyond wanting to be with him. Something about one's best friends implying one is essentially prostituting one's self tends to make one question a few things," she said bitterly.

Lee's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "He said that?"

"Harry? Of course not. He's that articulate or quick on his feet. He danced around it, said he didn't think George and I as a couple was a good idea, questioned why I was with him, implied George has changed."

"Well, to be honest, he has."

Hermione looked up, fire in her eyes. "Yes, I keep being told that, as if I am somehow unaware of it. I'm probably the person who understands it best, and that's not even much. What Harry doesn't seem to understand is that I've changed too. Perhaps it's occurred to me that life can't be taken so seriously, that all the knowledge in the world doesn't spare us pain. Maybe being with someone like George, who is able to find humor in darkness and push to continue living even when his heart is breaking and he can't see for the pain he's in, maybe someone like that is a better fit for who I am now."

"You don't have to convince me, Granger. I think you two are oddly well suited," Lee said, holding his hands defensively.

Hermione slumped again. "I think we do well together. I don't know, Lee. It's easy enough when it's just the two of us, alone. We fit well together. But I've always been afraid of how it would be seen. And Harry echoing the same questions I've asked myself . . . well. . . what if I'm willing it to be something it's not or ignoring warning signs that are there?"

"Hermione, I think you are overthinking. You are a bright witch, and I've absolutely no doubt you've gone over this logically a hundred times, right?" She nodded her agreement. "And what did you come up with, then? Wait, let me guess? That there are pros and cons to the relationship and in the end, you just have to take if on blind faith like the rest of us?"

She smiled a bit at that. "Yes, there is a point at which logic carries little weight."

"About the point where love comes in to make fools of us all?"

"Sounds about right," she agreed, before she realized how it could be taken. "Not that I'm saying I'm in love with George. I don't know about that."

"You're crazy about him, but I'll let you just figure that out on your own. Back to Harry, then. Why do you put so much faith in what he says? Because it sounds like your own fears?"

"Harry's my best friend. He knows me better than practically anyone. We went through things together you can't imagine," Hermione said dejectedly.

"I think that could be part of the problem though," Lee said seriously. At her questioning look, he continued. "Right, it's like this. I don't have a hard time seeing how you and George fit together because I have very few preconceived notions of you. Whereas, Harry had this firmly fixed idea of you, a sort of picture, if you will, and this doesn't fit. He'll change his tune when he gets a chance to see this side of you."

"And what if he doesn't?" she asked, the root of her anxiety on full display. "What if he's right?"

"Are you a whore? No? Then he's not right. Even if you and George part ways in three months, he's not right. This works for you now. Give him a chance, he'll figure it out. If he doesn't, tell him to bugger off. Thing is, love, that the people we really care for will always work things out."

"I suppose," she said, but she seemed at least a bit more animated than she was before.

"Excellent. Now d'you think you could try and relieve some of your bloke's fears? It's bad if he's coming to me for advice. I don't tend to stick about in relationships, and Merlin only knows what sort of bad advice I'd give him." And just like that, Lee was back to his insouciant self.

-o0o-

The evening ended up being more enjoyable than any of them might have predicted when George arranged it. He returned, a bit of trepidation in his soul, but found Lee and Hermione already upstairs, comfortably ensconced in the lounge, Lee seeming to be entertaining Hermione. She was laughing anyway, and her eyes were happier when they turned to him.

The pit that had settled in his stomach over the past day or two got better when she actually said, "Margherita for me, right? I'm bloody well starved." George dropped a kiss on her forehead in relief and beamed at his mate, gratitude more than evident.

They ate together, drank some beer George had picked up, and chatted amiably. Lee was in full performance mode, clearly doing his best to outrage or startle Hermione. Unfortunately for him, she'd become adept at that sort of game after living with George for so long. Mostly, George sat back, content to let them go at it, entertained by the more subtle gamesmanship on display between Lee's lewd jokes and Hermione's quick responses and subtle cuts. It was a side of her he had always suspected was there, hiding behind the prefect, and he was pleased he'd guessed correctly.

Hermione was still smiling and shaking her head bemusedly when Lee floo'd home, and her smile softened some when George resumed his seat, dropping his arm comfortingly about her, pleased when she snuggled against him, instead of pulling away as she'd begun to do in the last day or two.

"Thanks for arranging that. I suppose I needed some company, I've been down a bit, haven't I?" she finally said, sounding more open and relaxed than she had in a week.

"I've been starting to worry about you, love," he said non-commitally, smoothing her hair with one hand.

"I know you've been," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. Just tell me what I can do," he said, an edge of pain seeping into his voice.

Hermione was quiet for a moment, on the verge of insisting there was nothing he could do, she would be fine, just needed some more sleep. But she bit back on it and thought for a moment.

"George, what is going to happen with us?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean . . . do we have a future together?" she asked, unable to hide the tremor in her voice.

"I hope so," he replied immediately, firmly. "This hasn't just been a lark for me, or convenience."

"Even if I never want to get married?"

"Being with you is the important bit, Hermione. Not the label attached to it," he said, pulling back slightly to look down into her brown eyes.

"Even if your mum refuses to speak to you unless we get married?" Hermione pressed.

"Mum may get angry, but ultimately, she loves her children. She never gave up on Percy, did she? She's not going to cut ties with me, or you, because she disapproves of our living arrangements. Have you been sitting here imagining all the worst case scenarios since that dinner?"

"No," came the reply, belied by her inability to look George in the eye.

"Hermione, love, don't torture yourself with doubts. They were surprised by the news, that's all. I was upset at first by their reaction, but you said it yourself. They haven't had the time to get used to the idea. They don't see what you do here, what you're responsible for. No one will begrudge us a bit of happiness with each other. Not after everything."

"Harry said he doesn't understand it. Doesn't think we're a good idea," she admitted in a small, defeated tone.

"Harry? That's what's got you down? Harry, who was fascinated with Cho Chang? Who took Parvati Patil to the Yule Ball? Who took months to work out that he was in love with my little sister? Tell me, please, that you aren't listening to Harry's relationship advice."

Despite the turmoil in her heart, Hermione felt her lips quirk upwards. "Well, you've got a point there."

"Bloody hell, of course I do. Look, Hermione, the only people who matter in this relationship are right here in this room. You. Me. No one else. Do you want to be with me?"

"Yes." Hermione didn't hesitate. She didn't need to consider her answer, not anymore.

"I want to be with you." The conviction on his face, in his tone pierced her as nothing else really had since Harry's words.

"Easy as that, then?" she asked wryly.

"No. But it's the important bit, holds the rest together." George nearly said the one thing he knew he couldn't say to her right now. It was something he found coming more increasingly to his tongue of late; but he knew it wasn't the right time, and he bit it back.

"George, I just worry sometimes that we're not doing the right thing."

"Just come back to what is important. You and me, love."

"Right," she sighed. "You and me."

-o0o-

_A/N: Not necessarily what they were hoping for, is it? Hopefully it's more surprise and shock than anything. This weekend brings us houseguests to celebrate my birthday so I don't know how much time I'll have to write. If all goes well, the next update won't be too far away. I thank you again for reading and for all the kind words and provoking questions and interesting discussion this story has produced; I love hearing from people. Cheers!_


	15. Chapter 15

_Disclaimer: As I am not JK Rowling, the world of Harry Potter does not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended in my use of these characters._

-o0o-

Chapter 15

-o0o-

Hermione grew more cheerful after Lee's evening with them. George was growing more settled as well, used to the crowds in the store, less battered by acquaintances with short memories and their own problems. As summer drew to a close, and September loomed, they both of them felt as if they'd survived something important and difficult.

Not that everything was miraculously better; George at times retreated to his office to brood, and Hermione had a difficult time persuading him to be open with her. She found she needed to be careful to avoid falling into brooding herself when he seemed to shut her out. It was difficult; she missed Fred as well, and her parents. Melancholy remembrances were too easy to get lost in, and a spiral of grief between the two of them was the last thing either needed. Things were different from when she first moved in though. George, while he might isolate himself at times, seemed to be better able to pull himself together again. The fact that he wasn't afraid to tell her when he needed to be alone, and that he voluntarily returned to her from his brooding, usually with a wan half-smile and red-rimmed eyes, well, Hermione felt he was actually coping with his grief in a healthier way.

And their life was peaceful, mostly. The shock had indeed worn off some, and efforts were made by many of the Weasleys to ask both George and Hermione how business was going, and what they were working on. And while both George and Hermione suspected that their business partnership was still regarded with some disapprobation, that was at least kept quiet. Unfortunately, the same was not true of their other partnership. There was no use in trying to keep mum on that, too many people already knew.

Ron stopped by the week after the announcement, and caught Hermione tending a fiddly potion. His ears were red, and his hands were shoved awkwardly into his trouser pockets and he seemed to look anywhere but directly at Hermione. George quickly excused himself to check the floor, as Hermione gave him a dirty look, but Ron finally spoke to her when they were alone.

"So, uh, you and George, then?" he said, his voice carefully neutral.

Hermione tried to focus on the potion, giving it an anticlockwise stir. "Yes, that's right. I assume Harry told you?"

"Well, yes, he's a bit worked up at present, but I'm not stupid, Hermione. I noticed back in July that you two were awfully touchy with each other. You and I never touched that much, and we've been friends for almost nine years."

Hermione smiled despite herself. "That's partly because I had a crush on you, Ron. I touch Harry that much."

"Yeah, I know. Used to drive me insane wondering how I could compete with him when you clearly liked him more."

"He was always a brother to me," Hermione said, giving Ron a sideways glance, before reaching for syrup of juniper and adding five drops. "Does it bother you?"

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Would it matter if it did?"

Hermione bit her lip, and considered his question while she stirred four times in a clockwise spiral. Would it matter to her? Her best friends were important to her, especially now. But she wasn't really speaking to Harry at the moment, because of what he'd implied about her and about George, even if she knew she'd forgive him eventually. She squared her shoulders and looked directly at Ron.

"No. Not really. I mean, I'd be quite unhappy if you were upset, but I'm not about to leave George because you felt hurt." Her eyes dropped back to the shimmering peacock colored potion before her.

"Right, fair enough. So you really care about him?" he asked, sounding a little puzzled. She nodded, feeling her eye prickle with tears, not trusting her voice. "Right. Well. Good then. That's good, Hermione. I really just want you to be happy. And for my brother to be happy. Bit weird it's the two of you, but the important bit seems covered. Only, please don't give me details, yeah?"

Hermione looked up, quickly enough to see Ron's grimace. A slow, devious smile began crossing her face. "Details? You mean how much I enjoy it when George pushes me down over the bed and spanks my arse red before he plunges his throbbing manhood into me?"

Ron's face had gone white. "Yes precisely the sort of thing that I do not want to know, Hermione."

She laughed. "I'm not serious, Ron. I'm teasing you."

"Oh. Oh, right. Hey!" he said indignantly, as his initial relief warred with his indignation.

"Oh, don't believe her. She loves it when I spank her," George said, suddenly reappearing behind Ron, and smirking at his little brother, who gulped convulsively, then narrowed his eyes.

"You're having me on. And I don't want details! From either of you!" Ron sputtered.

George, a mischievous twinkle in his eye that wasn't seen nearly often enough these days, schooled his face to be still, while Hermione tried not to laugh at the horror on Ron's face, and simply shrugged. "Believe what you want to believe about your best friend. She's more than a bit kinky though, is all I'm saying. Besides, someone's got to test out the new adult line of products."

"Oh, stop, George. He's not sure whether to believe you or not. Leave off now," Hermione said with a chuckle.

"Fine, fine. Still trying to ruin all my fun," George said with a fake pout, before clapping his younger brother on the shoulder. "We're just teasing you, Ronnikins. You staying for lunch? I promise no details about our exceptionally varied and active sex life. Wouldn't want to make you jealous, after all."

Ron managed to chuckle at that, feeling a tightness that had been in his chest loosen a bit. He hadn't really been upset over his former flame and his brother getting together, which surprised him a bit, to be honest. He knew Harry was afraid he'd explode over it. Ron reckoned that he'd just grown up a bit. If there had been a time for him and Hermione to work out, it had passed. He had realized shortly after the war that he'd become more infatuated with the idea of her than with Hermione herself. If she was happy with George, and he was happy with Hermione, well, Ron was fine with that. It's not like he'd ever shagged Hermione or anything, might be a bit weird then. Of course, that thought reminded him of the teasing he'd just endured from both of them, and his suspicion that it wouldn't actually get any better if he ventured upstairs into their flat. Briefly, he wondered if they'd ever shagged on the table, and grimaced again.

"No, thanks, haven't got time. Just stopping by during lunch break, have to get back for the afternoon session. I'll try and make it sometime next week though," he said hopefully.

Hermione gave the now-midnight-blue potion a final stir and lowered the flame on it, before turning to Ron, and kissing his cheek affectionately. "Yes, we'd like that. Thursday would be good, I'll time lunch for your break, all right?"

"Yeah, sounds good. And take it easy on Harry, will you? I know you're angry, but he's trying to look out for you," Ron said, looking seriously at his friend, who stiffened.

"We'll see," she said non-comittally. Ron just shook his head, and left with a wave. George wrapped his arm around her, letting his hand rest on her hip. "Well, that went better than I'd expected it to do."

"Yes, thank Merlin. Ron's grown up a bit, hasn't he?" George mused. "Still, I don't think you'd ever had worked out long-term if you two had ever gotten yourselves sorted enough to date."

"Oh, why is that?" Hermione asked, leaning back a bit to study George's face.

"Because you really do enjoy it when I smack your arse, and Ron would never be able to do it," George said smugly.

Hermione blushed, and smack him half-heartedly on the arm. "That is quite enough of that. You shouldn't tease him like that."

George laughed aloud, a sound that Hermione found herself enjoying more than she'd ever have believed a year ago. "I think you mean I shouldn't tease you like that, since you are the one who started it with Ron. Throbbing manhood? I never took you for a reader of rubbish-bin romances."

"I'm not, though there was a point in Hogwarts when Parvarti and Lavender were obsessed with them and would read passages aloud to each other and swoon over them. The language was euphemistic and dreadful. But, the pertinent point is that you were clearly eavesdropping, weren't you?"

"Ah, caught me out, haven't you?" George said unapologetically. "Well, you can't blame me for wanting to make certain you didn't need my help. Glad things are all right between you." He squeezed her hip and kissed her cheek before returning to his own work.

-o0o-

While Ron had taken the news in stride, George and Hermione appreciated the humor involved as well, which is perhaps why they were at first amused with what happened next. Because the shop had been busy, and because of the general concern of disapprobation, neither Hermione nor George appeared at the next family dinner, though George did attend the gathering the night before Ginny left for her final year at Hogwarts, having finally lost the battle with her mum.

Hermione had planned to attend, but an accidental explosion with one of the base brews left her exposed skin tinged a sickeningly jaundiced shade, and she preferred to spend the evening attempting to remove all traces of the potion rather than have the mickey taken out of her for her error. George was managing quite well enough on his own, on that front, she thought savagely as she continued to scrub herself with a special solvent the twins had created. It worked, but only very slowly. By the time George returned, she had gone from the color of a newly minted galleon to a pale sunshiney yellow. He finally took pity on her and assisted her in getting the rest of the color gone, and even made her a cup of the chamomile and spearmint tea she liked at night, and rubbed her feet while she sipped it, by way of apology.

She slept fairly well that night, all things considered, and was up before George, as usual. Not requiring another shower, she pulled on a robe over her normal sleeping attire and started the kettle. Hermione knew from experience that George would probably be up in the next half-hour, and resolved to take advantage of the private time by reading in tranquility. Her tea was ready quickly, and she retrieved only an apple and some cheese, which sliced themselves as she sweetened her tea, and she levitated the lot to the lounge, where she curled up to eat her breakfast. She had only just settled in when the floo activated and Molly Weasley tumbled out, carrying a box with her.

Molly's eyes fell onto Hermione, taking in her half-dressed appearance covered by a robe, and the book and looked around for George. She seemed rather taken aback at finding Hermione in the lounge. "Oh, good morning, dear," she said, stopping abruptly.

"Good morning, Molly. How are you doing? What brings you here so early?"

"Oh, George left my box for the two of you last night, thought I'd floo over and bring it, save some trouble. We missed you last night, Hermione," she said, a bit stiffly. "You look quite recovered from your accident."

"Well, it took hours, but George's solvent eventually returned my skin to normal color. I was sorry not to have made it, but I'll owl Ginny tomorrow, once she's settled, to see how she got on today."

"Indeed. Well, I can't tarry, of course, she's due at King's Cross in a few hours, and we want to see her off. I'll just leave this here, shall I?" Molly placed the box on coffee table and turned as if to leave, before asking in a strange sort of voice, "Do you mind if I just use the loo quickly? I think Ginny was in the shower when I floo'd over."

"Of course not," Hermione replied, sounding faintly puzzled. "You remember where it is?"

"Oh, yes, of course. Just be a moment," Molly said, before walking down the corridor. Hermione heard a door open, and then began unpacking the box Molly had sent. It was kind of her, and helpful, as it saved George and Hermione a lot of time in the evenings, though they still preferred to cook their own breakfasts. Hermione had returned to the lounge when she heard the bedroom door open; presumably George was awake. She heard a sleepy voice, filled with confusion, "Mum? What are you doing in Hermione's room?"

In her chair, Hermione arched an eyebrow, and heard a flustered Molly began sputtering, "Oh, I was going to use the loo, but I wasn't sure which door it was, since you expanded. And I haven't seen Hermione's room yet, so I was just having a look-see. Good morning, Georgie. I'll just pop into the loo and be on my way."

George stared at his mum as she disappeared behind the other door, then walked out to the lounge, looking bemused, but fortunately dressed. "Oh, there you are. Wondered where you'd gone. What is my mum doing here? Did you make tea?"

"Tea's on and warm. Your mum came to bring the box from last night that you forgot," Hermione said, her eyes twinkling.

George yawned. "Ah. Well then. You eat breakfast?"

"I have an apple and cheese here, thanks though," Hermione replied, resuming her chair and her book. George nodded and began trying to figure out what he wanted to eat.

"You sure that's enough to hold you, love?" George asked, pulling sausage out of the cool preservation drawer, and began heating it up.

"Yes, I'm fine. You sleep well?" Hermione asked, sipping her tea, as Molly reappeared. She gave her son a hug and nodded curtly to Hermione before flooing home.

"Well enough. Did I just imagine that my mother was checking out your bedroom?" he asked.

Hermione chuckled. "No, I don't think you imagined it, as she told me she was going to the loo and remembered where it was. You think it was just curiosity or you think she's grown suspicious?" Hermione asked.

"Dunno. Mum's not above skulking about. Good job you weren't in my bed then, innit?" George said, flashing a wicked grin at her.

Hermione snorted, then said, "Don't tell me you're afraid of your mum now, George!"

"Oi, you know damn well I'm not afraid of her. I just think it prudent to preserve the hearing in my remaining ear," he sniffed, and Hermione laughed.

-o0o-

The next time Molly Weasley appeared in the flat was another near escape. It was still early September, and she'd popped by once during working hours on her way to the bank, she said. George had wrapped his arms around Hermione, and was nuzzling her neck only moments before his mum flung open the door to the workroom; Hermione had laughingly pushed him off, insisting she had to finish packaging the animal transfiguration sweets, and with an exaggerated sigh, George returned to his own workbench. Molly looked back and forth between their benches, a slight frown on her face. Hermione met George's eyes and he shrugged in response, but talked with her a bit. Both of them thought it a bit odd, but not so far outside the norm that they were concerned by her behavior or appearances. At least not until two days later, when she appeared again unexpectedly in the evening.

Hermione was in the shower when Molly appeared; she and George had planned to go out with Lee Jordan and Katie Bell for drinks. Prior to that though, Hermione had cooked dinner for George. She would later claim she was uncertain how it happened, but he'd made some cheeky comment and in retaliation, Hermione very unexpectedly flung her spoonful of mashed potatoes in his direction. She couldn't control the giggling that happened as she watched bits of potato drip from George's shocked face. When he'd recovered though, the fight had been on, though Hermione had the good sense to throw an imperturbable charm towards the lounge so the mess would be somewhat contained.

It had been an epic battle; dinner rolls chucked like grenades, green beans being flung, even some roast wound up in Hermione's hair, but George's experience won out in the end, and he managed to corner Hermione where he upended the leftover gravy onto her head, to her combined shrieks and laughter. She capitulated, and George smiled down at her, and then they were kissing, bits of food everywhere, gravy being smeared in places gravy oughtn't to be, and then with a shuddering gasp, Hermione pushed herself away.

"Right. I'm going to shower. We're still on for drinks in roughly an hour, and I am not having a shag while there is still gravy dripping down my back. You clean this up, and then come join me, yeah?"

"Oi! Why do I have to clean it up? You started it!" George said indignantly, cheeks flushed with the exertion of the last half hour.

"To the victor go the spoils," Hermione said cheekily, and dodged out of his grasp and scurrying to the loo before he could argue. George just shook his head, and began vanishing food. It truly didn't take much time to have the dining area and kitchen neat and tidy again, but before he could take care of the remnants of food stuck to him, the floo activated.

George half expected Lee to have shown up early and was cheerfully planning to tell him to bugger off as George had a willing witch in the shower waiting for him, but instead, his mum made her third uninvited arrival. Instantly, the good feelings that had been bubbling up since the shop closed vanished. There could be no question now that his mother was suspicious and was trying to catch them out rather than simply ask directly about what was happening between them. Never a good sign, in his opinion; when his mum had done this when he and Fred were young, it meant she expected to catch them doing something she disapproved of. When she'd wanted to know something more factually, she'd simply asked. After the reactions to their business partnership, and the effect of that strain on Hermione, he really hoped that things might die down before the news came out.

"Mum? Everything all right?" he asked, cautiously.

She stared at him. "George, what on earth? You are utterly covered in food!"

"Yeah, I know. Food fight. What're you doing here?"

"A food fight?" Molly said, her eyes popping. "For goodness' sake, George, you are an adult! Are you ever going to act like it?"

George sighed. "I act like an adult everyday, Mum. I own and run a highly successful business, and manage to cook and clean for myself at least part of the time. Because I indulged in a bit of silliness with Hermione does not mean I am not an adult." His voice was stiff.

"A bit of silliness with Hermione? And where is she right now?" Molly huffed.

"In the shower, she was a bit messier than me, and we're supposed to meet up Lee and some mates for drinks in a bit. You've never answered my question, why are you here?"

"I just came through to find out whether or not you and Hermione would be joining us for dinner next weekend or no," Molly said shortly, her blazing eyes telling George that he'd made her angry.

"No idea. I'll have to ask Hermione about her plans, and check the schedule."

"I would think you might make some time to be with your family, after everything," she said sharply.

George gritted his teeth. "I make a fair amount of time to spend with family. But as an adult with responsibilities, sometimes I have to see to those."

"Surely your _partner_ could manage the shop for the day. You apparently trust her enough to give over your brother's legacy to her," Molly said bitterly.

George exhaled sharply. "Hermione is family too. Mum, I'm not sure what's gotten into you, or what your purpose is. If you wanted to know if we were coming, a firecall or an owl would have sufficed. If you are upset because I made Hermione a partner in the business, well, I'm very sorry about that. But not only is it done, it was something I stand behind. You haven't any idea how much she's done or what she's capable of doing. Hermione is helping me keep a promise I made to Fred during the war, that we would keep this going if one of us died. _That_ is Fred's legacy. Now, I've got to cleaned up, so if you'll excuse me . . ."

He stared pointedly at her, arms crossed over his chest unrelentingly, until she turned on her heel and disappeared back through the floo. George felt anger well up in him, white-hot, flooding through his body. New worries and hurts mixed with old resentments, and left him nearly shaking where he stood. He drug a hand over his face, and grimaced to realize he was still wearing mashed potatoes and green beans and gravy. George picked up his wand and cast a security charm that would prevent entry by floo or apparition, and then went to the loo.

Hermione looked round the shower curtain when he came in, and said cheerfully, "Wondered if you were coming or not. I was just about to get out. Did it take you so long to clean?"

"Mum stopped by," George said, a bit dully, clamping down on the anger rocketing through his system.

"Oh," was the only response from Hermione. She eyed George and quickly realized the visit had been anything but pleasant, and her heart sank to see how furious he clearly was. The evening had been so nice to that point.

"Well, I need to shower anyway," George sighed, and Hermione made way for him, hovering uncertainly.

"Er, do you want me to go?" she finally said.

"Merlin no. I want to shag your brains out, it's the only thing that might keep me from tearing apart the flat right now," he said succinctly.

"Right," Hermione said uncertainly. There was a harshness, and edge to him, that worried her just a bit.

He laughed a humorless laugh. "Really, Hermione, I think you know I won't hurt you. Just give me a moment to wash that food off and I'll show you."

George was as good as his word. He washed quickly, and then pulled her close to him. His hold was firm but not rough, his kiss was smoldering and plundering, but not forceful. There was a sureness and tension to his caresses, and despite the emotion she could feel radiating from him, he was in total control. Hermione relaxed into him, allowing him to press her against the shower wall, feeling the humidity of the warm shower and the heat from their closeness. As he leaned down to kiss her neck, lick at her collarbone, she braved the question.

"Why did she come?" she asked, in a breathless sort of voice.

"Said she wanted to know if we were coming to dinner next weekend. But really, it's about her feeling I've hurt Fred's legacy by making you a partner. Quite nasty about it, really. Questioned when I'd grow up."

"Oh, George," she said softly, sadly.

"Don't want to talk about her. Want to fuck you," he replied, his hands busy making his point.

"Yes, please yes," Hermione breathed, arching her back, so that his hands were touching precisely where she most wanted them to be, moaning as he stoked her desire to a fiery passion.

George wasted little time in helping Hermione wrap her legs around his waist, and plunging into her. They were directly below the water, it beat down around them, as George thrust again and again and Hermione clung to him, riding him. It was over abruptly, both of them breathing heavily. They stayed together for a moment, Hermione holding him tightly, as George buried his face in the crook of her neck. A shudder ran through him, and she was concerned, but then he lifted his head, slid from her body and helped her regain her footing.

She touched his face. "Are you going to be all right?"

"As long as you're around to do things like that, I expect so," he said, with a smile she'd not expected. They both quickly cleansed themselves and stepped out of the shower. Hermione began toweling off, though George used a drying spell. He was about to step out of the loo when Hermione stopped him, and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly, and she felt even more of the remaining tension drain from his body.

"George, I -" she began to say, but was interrupted by a chiming sound. George rested his head on top of Hermione's and sighed.

"Bugger all. I set wards up. That'll be someone trying to floo. Mum probably went back in a snit and now Bill or Dad are upset. I'd better go talk to them," he said, in a defeated tone.

"I'll take care of it," Hermione said.

"No, no, that will probably only make things worse," George said stubbornly. "Besides, you're not dressed."

"Neither are you. It's fine, my robe is right there." Hermione quickly summoned it and donned it and slipped out of the loo before George could protest further.

In the lounge, she lifted the ward and immediately, Bill's head appeared in the fireplace, looking concerned.

"Hermione? Where's George?" he asked, sounding more tense than she was used to hearing.

"Shower. What do you need, Bill?" she asked nicely, but shortly.

"Can I come through?"

"What do you need, Bill?" Hermione repeated, this time more tersely.

"I wanted to talk to him. Mum's a bit upset, I wanted to check if George was all right. That's all," Bill said earnestly.

George was standing out of sight at the edge of the corridor, now wearing faded, old jeans and a plain white muggle t-shirt. He shrugged, and Hermione nodded.

"Yes, all right. Come through," Hermione agreed. As soon as Bill came through, Hermione reset the ward George had used. "George, we're to meet them in half an hour. If you want to cancel, we should do it soon."

George shook his head, still leaning against the wall at the junction of corridor and lounge. "Bill's only here for a quick word, not a jaw me dead. Go get dressed, I'm only planning to throw a jumper over this." Hermione stopped to give him a reassuring squeeze and George kissed her forehead as she passed, before leveling his gaze at his eldest brother. "Bill. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Mum's in a state. Not entirely coherent. Thought I'd pop by and make sure you were well."

"Not going to ask for details then?" George said, remaining where he was, his hands thrust in his pockets, his eyes hooded.

"No, I think I've got the picture. I think if you just told Mum you and Hermione were together, it would help," Bill said mildly.

"Maybe it's not her business," George said mutinously. "Maybe, if she were concerned, she could ask, like a normal person, instead of skulking about and showing up at odd hours and trying to catch us at something."

"Maybe, but then she might not be Mum anymore. You know, ultimately, she loves you and wants what is best for you. And for Hermione too."

"She's got a funny way of showing that sometimes, though, doesn't she? It's no secret she doesn't like the shop, and never really understood things. But she threw Fred in my face, and that's not right, Bill. She's been cold to Hermione ever since we made the announcement, and it's hurt Hermione pretty badly."

"You know she wouldn't do that if she knew you were a couple," Bill said patiently.

"Oh no? '_Phlegm_' ring any bells? It took you being attacked by a bleedin' werewolf for her to think about liking Fleur. Which, to some degree I understood, because she didn't know her well. She's watched Hermione grow up, and had practically planned her wedding to Ron. If she's behaving this way because she suspects something, it's not going to get suddenly better when she knows. And don't tell me she won't have an eppy over us living together, because we both know better, it's only going to make it worse," George scoffed.

"She's angry right now, but she'll calm down and she'll be horrified. I just want you to give her a chance. And think about talking to her, George. She might surprise you."

"Or she might insult me more, and insult Hermione, and then I may not be responsible for I'll say. So no, right now, I'm not going to talk to her. Maybe when I am less angry, I'll think about it. But it's not just me now, is it?" George's voice was clipped, and his posture was clearly angry and defensive.

"Right. That's fair. What did she say to you? I've heard about what you said to her."

George sighed. "Bill, I don't much care to rehash it right now. Hermione and I have plans, and will need to get going soon. Thank you for being big brotherly and protective, I am fine. I'm sorry Mum's unhappy, but I'm not going to put up with her bashing the witch I love or trying to browbeat me with Fred's memory."

Bill sighed. "Of course not. I'm sure that isn't what she meant to do, though."

"It's what she did, meant to do or no. Look, Bill, really, I'm all right. I'm angry. But I'm not destroying anything, yeah? Go back to your lovely wife and enjoy a good shag or something." George gave him a wicked grin, but it lacked the flash of insouciance and mischief that had previously been there. Bill had heard from his mother that George had been unpardonably rude to her, that he'd made it clear that he valued Hermione over the family and Bill listened to her dark mutterings about the sort of girl that would take up with a broken wizard at his lowest, and she was sure there was something going on there, given how scandalously under-dressed Hermione was when she'd visited the flat unexpectedly. It was enough to make Bill grit his teeth, but he also remembered where their famous temper came from, and it wasn't the Weasleys so much as the Prewetts. Whatever George had said had gotten his mother's back up but good.

George was evidently unwilling to discuss it further, and reluctantly, Bill acknowledged that he couldn't make him talk. He supposed Hermione would probably have ways of doing that, and be aware enough of the situation to get him talking if he needed to; the best Bill could do was let his brother know that their mum wasn't representing the entire family.

"Right. Well, I'll be going. Just . . . you know where to find me, yeah? Anytime you need me, George," Bill said in a casual voice, but with a serious look at George, who nodded slightly in acknowledgment. Bill then raised his voice, "Hermione, I'm leaving. Lovely to see you. Fleur is planning to owl you lot about dinner out at our place soon."

"I'll look forward to it. Take care, Bill," came Hermione's disembodied voice from down the hall. Bill nodded to George and then apparated away. George went to his bedroom and reached for his jumper before pausing, and reaching further back into his closet and pulling out a brown jumper Fred had always liked. George had smirked then at how plain it was, but now he smiled at it, and how Fred had thought it made him look more mature and serious, and had favored it for first dates. Pulling it on was a painful tug at his heart, but that was more than made up for by the warm feeling of closeness to his lost twin that rushed over him. Hermione had been right when she'd advised him to keep George's clothes.

"Oi, you ready yet?" came Hermione's soft voice. "Oh, you look quite nice, darling."

"Thanks. This was one of Fred's jumpers," he said suddenly, as if he needed to her to understand how he was feeling. Hermione walked over to him and threaded her arms around his waist, a soft look on her face.

"It's really a lovely shade for you," she said. George smoothed her hair with one hand and swallowed the lump that had appeared in his throat.

"Right. Well, let's be off. I'm hoping to get you pissed so I can bring you back here and do unspeakable sorts of things to you."

"Ah. It's not going to happen, George," Hermione said, voice ripe with amusement. "But you are welcome to give a go."

"I'd be careful about issuing challenges like that, love, you'll only get yourself in trouble," George said. "Shall we, then? Apparition or floo?"

"Apparition, of course," Hermione said, and with a twist, they were gone.

-o0o-

The evening was a mixed one. George was quieter than was his wont, even for his post-war self. Katie appeared a bit ill at ease with this quiet George and with Hermione's presence; they'd not known each other especially well in Hogwarts. However, once the drinks began flowing and the live music began, the small group loosened up. They were joined after the first round by Katie's boyfriend Roger Davies, and Alicia Spinnet turned up with Oliver Wood in tow sometime later. There was no comment made about Angelina's absence or Hermione's presence, to George's relief. It was simply a good time amongst friends, something that had been very scarce since their carefree days at Hogwarts.

Lee noticed that George was somewhat subdued, but Hermione offered no explanation, merely stretched out her drink and kept an eye on George. Whenever he seemed about to reach for another drink, she interrupted him, pulling him into conversation, or touching him lightly. He seemed to realize what she was doing, as he gave her a wry smile and ordered another pint of lager instead of a second or third whiskey. Hermione met Lee's eye after he watched that exchange and gave him a small smile, which he returned. All in all, they were only pleasantly tipsy when they returned home, tired from the evening.

Hermione stumbled coming through the floo, and George caught her and steadied her. She wrapped her arms about his waist and they swayed together for a moment, and she chuckled.

"This is almost like dancing," she said.

"Oh, you like dancing, do you?" George said.

"It can be pleasant, I suppose," said Hermione.

"I don't really remember you dancing at the Yule Ball though, apart from the first dance."

"I expect that's because you were so busy yourself. I don't think there was a moment that neither you nor Fred were on the dance floor. I danced a few times with Viktor, but then Ron went and spoiled it with his accusations that Viktor was only trying to get to Harry. Oh, I was so angry that night," Hermione laughed.

"I do seem to remember walking back into Gryffindor tower to a screaming match between the two of you. Well, we can invite him over for a repeat performance if you think it would make it more authentic," George offered, with an air of great reluctance.

"No, I'm fine, thanks," Hermione said, smiling up at George. "Though I wish we had some music to properly dance."

"Ask and ye shall receive," said George, flicking his wrist at the wireless in the corner, which promptly began playing a pretty tune. George caught Hermione's hand in his and proceeded to enthusiastically waltz her around the lounge, deftly avoiding the furniture. "How was that?"

Hermione couldn't stop smiling. "Lovely, dear. Though I wouldn't object to something a bit less vigorous next." The wireless switched to a soft humming sort of song, and they returned to the close swaying they had begun earlier. "D'you know, I don't think I can remember who you went to the ball with, actually."

"I was supposed to go with Alicia, just as friends mind, because she was terrified no one would ask her. But then a bloke from Durmstrang worked up the nerve, so I let her out of it. Very nearly didn't have a date, but then I found out that Gavin Boot broke up with Amelia Gordon, a sixth year Hufflepuff, because he thought one of the Beauxbatons girls fancied him. Amelia was a real laugh, we were in Potions and Herbology together, and she was thrilled to have a date after all. We had a nice time together, managed a few minutes under the mistletoe. Sadly for me, she was willing to take Boot back before the next Hogsmeade trip, so it was a one-time only deal. In fact, I think they got married this past winter, if I remember correctly."

"Ah, heartbreak at such a tender age," Hermione teased.

George laughed. "I think you probably had more heartbreak than me, given the way your evening ended. But you did date Krum for awhile, didn't you, so not all bad?"

"I suppose you could call it dating. Viktor was terribly shy and I was only fifteen. Mostly, we studied together," she said with a shrug.

"What? No intense snogging sessions?"

"Oh, we kissed a few times, but I felt very awkward and inexperienced, and there was never much time alone, you know. In the end, he was very sweet and I'm glad we still write each other, but I was never really that interested in him. His whole life revolves around Quidditch, which I find rather stifling."

"Why did you go out with him then?" George asked.

"Really? An international sports star takes an interest in me and makes me feel like a pretty girl? And you wonder why I wanted to go out with him? It was such a nice change, feeling appreciated and feminine. For goodness' sake, your brother only asked me after you two hassled him and he suddenly remembered I was a girl."

George slid a hand slowly down her back to cup her arse. "Yeah, well Ron wasn't always the most observant of the Weasleys. For instance, I've known for quite some time that you are a girl. A very, very attractive one at that," he said, leaning down to kiss her, but she pulled away for a second, cocking her head at him.

"Do you think so?" she asked, an almost wistful tone creeping into her voice.

"Of course I do. Gods, Hermione, you're stunning. Don't you know that? I clearly haven't done well at telling you that enough. You, darling, are exquisite," George said with such complete sincerity that Hermione had no choice but to believe him. She blushed, but he simply brushed his fingers over her cheek.

"Take, for instance, your face. You have such balanced features, very classic. And your eyes are this gorgeous brown color, like chocolate, and they sparkle when I amuse you, and make you laugh. Your mouth is wonderfully kissable, especially when you do that sexy thing where you are deep in thought, and you get this little frown line right there between your eyes and you bite your lip. Yeah, rather like that," he said, chuckling, as she unconsciously mimicked the expression he was describing.

"I don't know. That's all very sweet, George, but I just don't see it, I suppose. I'm just me, not some sex goddess or something. You make me sound pretty or something." There was a vulnerability in her eyes as she looked up at him.

"Hermione, you always seem to short-change yourself. You are a beautiful, attractive witch. And if I can't convince you with words, allow me to demonstrate," he said, running his hands down her arm and catching her hand. His fingers skimmed her palm, which he then drew to his lips, lightly kissing it.

"Your hands are small, but you have these lovely, long fingers. They are so nimble, whatever you are doing."

George ran his fingers up her arm to her elbow, and he pushed her sleeve up to kiss the inside of her elbow. "I love this bit here. Your skin is so soft, and I love it when you drape your arm around me and snuggle close. You have no idea how attractive your elbows can be."

Hermione chuckled slightly. "Elbows are not attractive, George."

"I beg to differ, Hermione. You know what else I find attractive?" She shook her head. "Your knees. You have gorgeous legs, you know, but you always hide them away. I only get to see them when you are naked, did you realize that? And they are lovely knees, not knobby or anything. And do you know what you do when I slide my hand just there at the back of your knee? You make this noise, and it is sexier than just about anything you can imagine."

George leaned down and kissed her neck, licking her collarbone. "And here, when I do that, you arch your neck, which is long and graceful, and you close your eyes, and I don't think you have any idea how it makes me feel to watch you do that, to see what sort of effect I have on you. Need I go on?"

Hermione laughed a low, rich laugh, and took George's face firmly in her hands and they kissed, a long twining of tongues and bodies and breaths, until Hermione pulled away. "I think I see what you're getting at. But don't let me stop you."

George smiled that rare, gentle smile that was reserved for her alone, and took her hand, and headed towards the bedroom. "Well then, we've got a lot more to cover. Might as well get comfortable, shall we?"

-o0o-

_A/N: Ah, families. My husband, who often acts as beta, despite his dislike of HP, said it sounded awfully familiar to him, and I just smiled, because yes, it rather does. . . Sometimes people are predictable, and while I think Molly would be thrilled to have Hermione for a daughter in law under normal conditions, I can't think that her current state of mind would be quite so welcoming. Especially once she learns that the wedding she's been planning for Hermione for some time may never happen. Sorry for the slow update; I've had a brainwave for another story that is not yet posted and I needed to get that out and I went through a number of extra passages with this chapter that were ultimately cut because while I think they were good scenes, they just weren't right for this. Anyhow, I hope that you are enjoying spring weather and that everyone is well. As always, I love to hear from people about what you think. Cheers!_


	16. Chapter 16

_Disclaimer: These characters, universe, and history remain property of JK Rowling and various publishers. I make no claim to any of them, only borrowing them for a bit. I make no profit from this story, save satisfaction._

-o0o-

Chapter 16

-o0o-

George hummed to himself as he fiddled with the potion recipe before him. It had been Hermione's idea, really, but it was a clever one. Getting back to inventing and development hadn't been easy, but once he'd started, it had sort of taken hold of him. Maybe it was that he felt close to Fred while he worked, almost hearing his voice arguing with him in his head. Perhaps it was just that a new challenge captured his attention. Hermione teased him that he enjoyed the naughtiness of tinkering with an adult line of products. He merely shrugged and smiled; the whys and wherefores interested him less then the end result that he was content.

At work, anyway. George had avoided the Burrow since his spat with his mother, though Hermione attended the family dinner without him. She was pale and tense when she returned, and said only that it had been a quiet meal. Bill told him later that Molly had been excessively and coolly polite to her, and that the rest of the family was clearly uncomfortable. George merely tightened his jaw and eyed his brother at the news; he wasn't going to play games with his mum over Hermione.

For the moment though, he was engrossed in the potion before him. It was a strengthening solution that he was attempting to add to a lust potion. Hermione said she thought the combination would work like some muggle drug to help wizards keep their wands at the ready, as it were. She was surprised that no such potion already existed, but George pointed out that few wizards were capable of brewing such a thing and that most wouldn't much like to advertise they needed such a thing. George chuckled to himself to think of the delicate shade of pink she turned whenever he teased her with new product ideas as they cuddled together in bed at night.

"Knock, knock," came a voice from the shop entrance to the workroom. George looked up to see his father there, looking uncertain.

"Dad," he acknowledged his father's presence neutrally.

"George. I've not seen you for some time. I've missed you, so I thought I'd stop by. If now isn't a good time, though," Arthur trailed off.

George waved him into the workroom, and realized that his father was nervous, trying not to fidget. "I can't leave this potion, because I'm observing it for a potential product, but I can talk. Are you well?"

Arthur was a bit stung by the coolness in George's tone, but then, he wasn't surprised. Molly had quite a temper and he knew she'd said some things to George that had hurt him. And of course, no one in the family was oblivious to how coldly she'd been treating Hermione. Arthur wasn't entirely certain how he was going to make amends or sort this out, but he was determined in himself of the necessity of working that bit out, so that he didn't lose both his twin sons. So, he tried for an affable expression and a gentle tone when he finally spoke.

"I don't know if I'd say that, no. I'm concerned," Arthur said honestly.

"About what?" George asked blandly.

"How things are with your mum. How things are with Hermione. How you are." Arthur finally sat down on Hermione's stool, and looked earnestly at his son.

The potion began forming large, mud-like bubbles that erupted with wet splats, and George made a note or two before he replied.

"Things with mum are not great right now. She seems to have something against Hermione, and an unwillingness to ask what is happening instead of speculating about it with the family, so I've not got much to say to her right now. Things with Hermione are fantastic, so long as I keep her mind off how Mum is being cold to her. She's terrified that she's turning the family against each other and hurt over the way Mum's behaved. But with me, she's marvelous. Things with me are . . . I dunno. Unsettled, I suppose. But I'm doing well as I can." George picked up a glass stirring rod and carefully stirred the potion in an anti-clockwise direction three times.

"George, I'm sure you know that your mum loves you," Arthur began.

"She's got a shit way of showing that sometimes, Dad," George said flatly. "She said some pretty awful things to me, and the way she's treating Hermione is unacceptable."

"Sometimes she says and does things because she loves us, without thinking through how her words or actions can be interpreted. She is worried about you, about how you are coping. Her concern may not have taken the best form, but George, it's because she's hurt and grieving too."

"One might think she'd be grateful to Hermione, because without her, I probably wouldn't be here. Some days I still don't want to get out of bed because I feel half of me is just missing. And Hermione helps me. I wish Mum could see that," George said, running a hand through his hair, his frustration evident.

"I think, perhaps, she feels guilty that you needed Hermione, and that she wasn't there for you. Maybe a little afraid she's been replaced by Hermione."

"That's mental. Hermione just provided some much needed distraction. And she cared about Fred too, but he wasn't her family, which was good for a change. Hermione always treated us as two separate people, you know. She didn't burst into tears when she saw my face," he said bitterly.

"I'm not saying it's right, or even that she's consciously aware of it, just explaining a bit of where she's coming from." Arthur was placating, almost soothing.

"It's not just that. Look at how she's behaving now. Let's be honest, Dad, how is she going to take the fact that Hermione and I are living together? She never could deal with Fred and I being different, going against her expectations. This is just one more thing, innit? But it's also just like the shop, something that is right for me, that I'm going to pursue whether she likes it or not."

Arthur looked taken aback by the vehemence in George's voice. George avoided looking directly at him, instead, stirring the potion again, noting the change in consistency from a thick mud to a thinner soupy texture. Finishing that up, he chanced a glance at his father, surprised to the see the sadness on his face, to note how much older he looked than George had quite realized.

"George, your mum was very proud of you and of Fred, and what you two achieved. I know she had hoped you'd go into the Ministry or something more conventional, but we both felt that if you could support yourselves doing what you loved, that was a wonderful thing. And of course you far exceeded our expectations."

"For Merlin's sake, Dad! You may feel that way, but from the time we tossed our O.W.L.'s Mum was after us. The summer before the Quidditch World Cup was nothing but her nattering on about how we were wasting our talents, and how we wouldn't amount to anything. The summer we spent at Grimmauld Place was nothing but her shrieking about our inappropriate pranks and useless tricks. Do you remember what she said when Ron made prefect?"

"No, but -" Arthur began.

George looked at him with the hurt of years past still evident on his face. "She was so pleased, because _it was everyone in the family_. I asked her what Fred and I were then, next door neighbors? She just warned us off ruining the moment for Ron. Even when she seemed pleased by how we were doing, she clucked over our products. Or our housekeeping. Or our love lives. Nothing we did ever measured up for her."

"I don't think that is true, but I know that it eats at her that she never really expressed how proud she was of both of you. I'm certain that is part of why she has reacted negatively to Hermione replacing Fred, even to the point of being made a full partner. Maybe it's not a good way to show it, but she does regret some of the things she didn't say and some of the implications she made."

"So why are you here telling me this, Dad? Why isn't she here to apologize?" George asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

Arthur looked guilty. "You know your mum can find that difficult."

George smiled a bitter little smile. "Right. You know, Bill floo'd over that night to check on me and tried to play peacemaker as well. I appreciate it. I thank you for being concerned about me, and for trying to explain Mum. But the problem I'm having, Dad, is that Mum is the one who needs to do that. I am not trying to divide the family up or start a row. But I'm not going to come round just so she can glare suspiciously and have a go at me or Hermione."

"George, I don't want there to be bad feelings or misunderstandings, not now," Arthur said, looking weary.

"Then you need to talk to her and tell her that whatever misgivings she has need to be kept to herself," George said, his pleasant tone belying the hard undertone or glare in his eyes.

"She's your mum, she's going to worry about you. It's natural, George. We all worry about you."

"I don't care if you worry about me. I appreciate that you do," George said, suddenly swiping his hand over his face in a tired gesture. "I'm just hurt by the way Mum is acting. It's hurting Hermione, and I don't understand why she's persisting when anyone can see it. If it's because she feels guilty or because she's clinging too hard or whatever, I don't care. I want her to stop and treat us both like adults. I'm not going to fight with her, Dad. If she's going to behave the way she has been, then I'm not going to be around her."

Arthur nodded sadly. "I suppose that is understandable. I just hope you'll give her a chance. Perhaps if you actually tell her about Hermione, she'll feel less like you're trying to keep a secret."

"Mum doesn't get to know everything about my life, Dad. She's got to get used to that. I know it's probably partially a reaction to Fred dying, I can see that," George forestalled his father's interruption. "But it's not a divine right. Hermione and I have every right to figure things out for ourselves before we share news about our relationship. I don't care if you tell her, Dad. I just object to her popping round my flat as if I were some sort of guilty teenager sneaking about and waiting to be caught out. Hermione and I are both well over age and both well aware of what we are doing, thanks."

"I understand, George," his father said heavily. "I'll try to talk to her." He looked so forlorn, that George softened, and reached across the empty space to give his father a hug.

"I know it's a hard position for you, Dad. I just won't back down, I'm afraid." George turned back to the potion, waving his wand over it to gauge the temperature, which he then lowered.

"Well, please know we love you, all of us, and that you are welcome anytime, yeah?" Arthur said, finally standing. George only nodded, his eyes on his potion, feeling a lump in his throat, and felt his dad squeeze his shoulder before he heard the workroom door close. He blinked back tears and wondered, briefly, if he was doing the right thing. The image of Hermione floated before him, and his resolve stiffened.

-o0o-

Things with Harry had remained cool since that night at the Burrow. While Hermione had shared lunch with both Ron and Harry once or twice since Ron's visit, she found herself being overly polite to Harry, and awkward silences fell between them more than once. However, she felt that he needed to apologize or at least indicate that the decision was solely hers and not open to discussion or vote. Ron tried to fill in the silences, but it was definitely not the chumminess or ease they'd previously experienced. Once or twice, she felt Harry was on the verge of saying something or apologizing, but just as he'd done when his suspicions began, he bit back the words and simply looked at her.

Hermione sighed to herself, resting her head on hand, rubbing her back with the other. When had things gotten so bloody complicated? George had been quieter and more thoughtful since his father had visited, and Hermione was well aware they were the subjects of family gossip. Precisely what was being said had been carefully kept from her ears, but there was no question that the forced smiles from some of George's brothers or the coldness coming from his mother were signs against their relationship. There was a tension threaded through any mention of the Burrow or family events and it bothered Hermione immensely that she was in any way responsible for dividing a family that had previously been so close and had only just recently gone through such a devastating loss. Still, she was stubborn; she wasn't going to let her relationship with George go because someone else had issues with it.

She felt hands suddenly on her lower back, kneading, and massaging, and George hooked his chin over her shoulder to see what she was working on. She groaned in appreciation of his clever fingers working out the knot that had formed while she was on her feet.

"That feels heavenly," she said. "What're you up to then?"

"Was about to ask the same of you. Looks like daydream charms," George said, giving Hermione's neck a nuzzle while his hands continued to work on the knot in her back.

"Yes, it is. Well, I'm attempting to make the suggestibility a bit stronger, so that you can give it a go for an adult line. We won't know for a bit yet, but Fred's notes give some direction towards that end, so I thought it was worth a try."

"Ah. I'm eager to see what comes of it. I was just upstairs and Fleur floo'd. She was asking if she could throw a small dinner party or have a gathering for your birthday, if we didn't have other plans."

"No one need go to any trouble," Hermione said a bit uncomfortably.

"Please, Fleur's been wanting to have us round for awhile, and would love to play hostess. And you know she's a delightful cook. But if you'd rather do something, just us, that's fine by me."

Hermione gave him a small smile. "I suppose it would nice enough. Just a small gathering though, not a big bash, right?"

"Promise," George said. "Small group only."

"All right, yes then. It's lovely of her to offer," Hermione said, leaning back against George's chest. "And it's lovely of you to work the kinks out of my back like that. Thank you, darling."

"My pleasure, love," he said, ceasing his attentions and wrapping his arms around her, kissing her cheek. "Er, there is one other thing."

"Yes?" she asked, squeezing his hand and then moving out of his grasp to reach the moonstone shavings.

"Fleur asked about inviting Harry. I told her that I'd talk to you."

Hermione sighed. "He's not apologized yet, and I'm still angry."

"Yes, I know. But you have seen him, and I think not inviting him would only make everything more awkward and hurt even more feelings," George said seriously, moving over to his workstation and setting up a cauldron.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at George. "I take it that means you'll be attending family dinner this week?"

George paused, a frown on his face. "I think you know why I'm not going to dinner."

"Yes, because you're angry with your mum. Understandably so. I'm angry with Harry. Equally understandable, I think," Hermione said in a dangerously even tone.

"It's not exactly the same thing, Hermione," George said slowly.

"I didn't say it was. The point, though, is precisely the same. You will go back to the Burrow when you feel it's time, and I'll spend time with Harry when I feel ready." There was an air of forced patience in Hermione's expression.

"Why do you want me to go back to the Burrow so badly, then?" George asked, slightly aggressively.

"I think you need to do what is right for you George; you've explained your reasoning to me. I support that, if you feel it best. But I won't pretend that I'm happy about the divisions in your family or the feeling that it's my fault," she said with some heat in her voice.

"I've already told you, in every way I know how, that it isn't your fault. That Mum is using you as excuse for her own guilt and this goes back much further than our involvement or Fred's death. I don't know what else to tell you, Hermione." His exasperation was clear.

Hermione stiffened. "I know that's what you think, but it's not how it feels to me. This all began when you made me partner, and no matter the reason, I can't just get rid of the feeling that I'm at least a little to blame, all right? I'm sorry if that bothers you, but it bothers me that you aren't really talking to your family."

"I _am_ talking to my family! At least to the people who are supporting me, supporting us. The rest of the lot can bugger off," George said viciously.

"You continue to say that, but do you really mean it? I can see how bothered you are about this mess. I don't like seeing you hurt like this. I've always loved your family, and it hurts to see all of you hurting," Hermione said more softly.

"There's the cauldron taunting the kettle! You think that's different than you and Harry? It's not like you've even given him an opportunity to apologize then, have you?"

Hermione's temper flared, and she slammed down her glass stirrer and put her hands on her hips.

"He's got a new owl and he knows where I live and work. He is more than capable of making time or opportunity if he wants to apologize. The problem with Harry is that he never thinks he's wrong, but this time he's gone too far. I won't just pretend he didn't say terribly inappropriate things to me."

"Never thinks he's wrong. Sounds like someone else I know," George muttered crossly under his breath. Hermione didn't hear exactly what he said, but knew it was something that would make her even angrier.

"What was that?" Hermione said sharply.

"Nothing at all. We'll have to agree to disagree, because I think we're at an impasse. I will not be going to dinner this weekend, and you apparently won't be inviting Harry to the party."

"Fleur is hosting, not me. She can do whatever she likes," Hermione said crisply, turning sharply back to the potion.

"You know perfectly well that if I tell her not to, she won't invite Harry. And if you think things are messy with my family now, just wait until that happens," he snapped.

Hermione stilled. "What is that supposed to mean, then?"

"You think Ginny will stay quiet when she hears about it? If Fleur and Bill don't invite Harry, then they are taking your side, our side, over his, and Ginny and Mum will back Harry and it'll just be another way in which you are pushing me about and taking things over."

"That's ridiculous," she said, but uncertainty was creeping in. George shook his head, and leaned back against the worktable.

"Been awhile since you heard from Ginny, yeah?"

"I suppose it's been a week or so, but I'd not given it much thought. I mean, term has just started, her NEWT year and everything."

"How many owls did you get the first week?"

"Three," she replied, confusion then sadness stealing over her face.

"Right. Ever since we bunked it in seventh year, Fred and I always got at least three owls a week, sometimes four. Ginny was always close to us, and she likes to write. Only I've not heard from her since the night Mum came over. I don't think that's a real coincidence, Hermione, which means she's hearing things from Mum and maybe Harry. If you think that's going to get better if you push hostilities out in the open, you're loonier than Luna."

"I . . . but . . ." Hermione stumbled for words.

"Mind the potion, Hermione, you're going to overboil soon," George said, now sounding resigned. Hermione quickly reduced the heat and stirred in a clockwise direction to introduce cooler air to the brew, which turned a charming shade of periwinkle blue.

That done, she remained where she was, staring at the potion for a moment, while George continued to lean against his worktable. The silence grew heavy, oppressive, until he realized that her shoulders were shaking slightly. In a second, he was beside her, wrapping a long arm around her, pulling her against his chest while she cried quietly. He lightly stroked her hair, cradling her close to him.

"Oi, I'm sorry, all right? I didn't mean to snap at you. It's not fair. Please don't cry, love," he said in a low, soothing tone.

A minute or two passed, and Hermione pushed away, swiping at her still wet eyes and saying in a watery voice, "No, I'm sorry. I didn't think about how my spat with Harry might be making things worse for you."

"No, no. It's just another distraction from the real issue, which is Mum and how she treats us. It's your birthday, you shouldn't need to put up with someone who is making you uncomfortable just because Mum might have an eppy."

"It's not that big an issue. I shouldn't let it be, anyway," she said. After a moment, she added in a soft tone, "I don't want to fight with you, George. It feels bad."

He cupped her cheek in his hand, using his thumb to dry her tears. "Yeah, it does. I'm sorry I came it the way I did. I should probably have found a more tactful way to lay that out there. Let's just forget about it, yeah? Not a shining moment for either of us."

Hermione gave a trembling smile and nodded. George leaned down and softly kissed her lips. "I'll make it up to you tonight," he whispered, producing a more recognizable smile. "Right. Finish up that potion, and then let's see about maybe going out for dinner. How's that sound?"

"Sounds like a fine evening," she said, turning back to the potion, but still frowning some in thought.

-o0o-

"Oi! Stop fussing already! You're being such a girl about it, when you look deliciously good," George said, leaning against the doorframe of Hermione's bedroom, grinning at her fretting before the mirror, double checking the combs that were holding her curls back from her face.

"I'm not a sweet, George," she said with a frown, before sighing. "Oh, dear. You don't think this makes me look too much like a pastille, do you?" She turned a bit to examine the flowing baby blue chiffon creation from another angle.

"Not at all. It's quite flattering. Besides, Fleur has impeccable taste, you should trust her. Now, should I wear Fred's brown suit or my blue pinstripe?"

"Brown, I think. You look so good in brown, and then we aren't color-coordinated like some ridiculous set of bookends," Hermione said with a half-smile.

"As the lady wishes," George said, with an exaggerated bow. "I know you're going to be tempted to fuss some more, but you look breathtaking, Hermione." The sincerity in his voice and the frank appreciation on his face made her flush with pleasure.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"Right, I'll be back in a mo," he said cheerfully. "Go wait for me in the lounge, would you? And stop fretting!"

Hermione obediently made her way to the lounge, perching on the sofa, trying to be mindful of her dress. Truth be told, she was a bit nervous about the evening. It was supposed to be a birthday celebration, but the small group George had promised had swelled under Fleur's organization, going from a cozy dinner party to a cocktail party. And Hermione knew that not only had Harry been invited, but that Fleur had felt it necessary to include her parents-in-law as well. Once the list had grown to a certain point, the same issues George had raised about Harry's inclusion became obvious regarding his parents. George merely shrugged his shoulders, but it had all contributed to make Hermione feel ill at ease.

If nothing else, this would be the first time they ventured out to a place or event where it was generally known they were a couple. That alone was enough to set Hermione nerves jangling. Her instinct to wipe her suddenly clammy hands on her dress was distracted by George's reappearance, looking crisp and dapper.

"Well?" he preened, turning in a slow circle to give her adequate time to appreciate his appearance.

Hermione couldn't help but smile. "You look quite handsome, darling. I ought to find more excuses for you to dress so sharply. Terribly dashing, really."

"Brilliant," he said, clearly pleased. "If it means I get such a great view of your legs, I can't help but agree with your assessment. Now, one last thing before we go." He held out a hand to her, pulling her up from the sofa, keeping a loose hold of her right hand.

"What's that?" Hermione asked, brushing a small something off the lapel of his jacket.

"Just this," George said, and Hermione felt something cool slide onto her middle finger. She raised an eyebrow at George as he released her hand and shrugged. "There may have been a reason Fleur picked these robes beyond how terrific you'd look in them."

Hermione glanced down to see a pale blue oval stone twinkling at her from the center of a delicate silver setting sparkling with tiny diamonds. The ring had resized automatically to fit her finger, and it was a beautiful piece that she might have selected herself.

"Happy birthday," George said softly. Hermione reached up and kissed him softly and sweetly on the mouth.

"You know it's too much," she said, her voice both pleased and resigned.

"There is very little that is too much for you, Hermione. It's an aquamarine, will always help you find your way back home," he said, a bit nervously.

"So, back to you then?" she asked, looking straight into his hazel eyes.

"I hope so." For a moment, George looked as if he were about to say something further, but the floo activated, and Bill's face hovered in the their fireplace.

"You lot coming? Guests are arriving and Fleur is getting a bit snappish, is all."

"Yes, we'll be there in a mo, Bill," George said. Bill disappeared, and George reached for his wand to set the wards while Hermione retrieved her bag and slipped her wand inside. They clasped hands and disapparated, appearing near Dobby's grave. Still hand in hand, they made their way to the back of the house, where Fleur had outdone herself in setting up a lovely fête. Fairies were lighting the area, soft music seemed to floating in the air, and turning leaves decorated the area with bright, warm colors.

"The birthday girl at last!" came a shout, which Hermione realized was Lee when he descended upon her to kiss her cheeks as a cheer went up. Already, twenty or so friends and family members were milling around, and there was a press to greet Hermione. Throughout the hugs and hellos, she kept George's hand tightly in hers. If this were their debut, then they may as well make it as obvious as possible.

Fleur finally appeared and slipped an arm through Hermione's, encouraging her to come get a drink, and George gave her a wink and she released his hand and walked with Fleur.

"So, cherie, do I see a leetle somezing on your hand?" Fleur asked teasingly as she led Hermione into the kitchen, where it seemed a full bar was laid out.

"Yes, birthday gift from George. You don't think it's too much, do you?" Hermione fidgeted with it nervously.

Fleur's eyebrows rose, and she tossed her silvery hair. "No, Hermione. He loves you, and wishes to please you. What is so strange about trying to choose a gift zat weel be meaningful?"

"I suppose so," Hermione said with a frown.

"Why do you look so sad?" Fleur asked.

"It is nothing, really. Is there anything I can do to help or are you all sorted?" she said briskly.

"Hermione! You are zee guest of honeur! I require no assistance. Zere are plenty of hors d'ouerves if you are hungry. You should go meengle," Fleur commanded gracefully, turning and plucking a crystal goblet filled with some yellow concoction and handing it to Hermione. "Dandelion dew wine, one of zee rarer products from my fazzer's vineyards. You will find eet intriguing, I zink."

"Thanks, Fleur. Everything looks beautiful. You shouldn't have gone to so much trouble for my birthday, but thank you," Hermione said, impulsively hugging the older woman she'd grown fond of.

Fleur waved her hand dismissively. "All our pleasure, cherie."

Hermione wandered back outside, where she found herself pulled into a small group and actively discussing the legislation about werewolves currently before the Wizengamot. That quickly turned to Wolfsbane potion and then more generally to potions brewing and ingredients. While Hermione remained stationary, the group seemed to shift, depending on the topic, as people wandered through and stopped to wish her many happy returns. It was pleasant outside – probably thanks to Bill's environmental charms – and George frequently stopped by to rest a hand on her hip or refresh her goblet of wine, and once to bring over a plate from her to pick from. He didn't linger long, busy as he was making his own rounds, but Hermione was reassured by his continuous presence there; she had forgotten that there were potentially guests coming with whom she was not on the best of terms.

It was only when George reappeared at her side, and didn't leave that she realized something was amiss. She'd thought at first that he was interested in the conversation about potions, since it was something of a specialty, given his line of work, but his participation in the conversation was perfunctory and his attention was rigidly fixed to something outside the group. Once Hermione realized his distraction, she followed George's eyeline to see Arthur and Molly standing near the entrance to the kitchen, looking distinctly uncomfortable. She felt George slide his arm loosely around her waist and she leaned into him, hoping to reassure him as much as to fight the urge to duck away. The look she saw Molly sending them was glacial.

"What do you think then, Hermione?" Lee asked, a bit loudly, recalling her to the conversation.

She shook her head slightly, as if to clear it. "Sorry, missed the question."

George spoke, and Hermione could hear the strain in his voice, and feel the tension in his frame, though you would be unlikely to spot it just at a glance. "The proposition that's come up before the Wizengamot to reinstate a centuries old marriage law to ensure the continuation of magical people."

"Rubbish," she said instantaneously. "The fact that Muggleborns exist and in such continually expanding numbers make it clear that intermarriage is not required to sustain the magical population. Marriage laws in the wizarding world are already questionable, in my opinion, but to attempt to force others into a lifelong bond on such a bizarre pretense? No sensible person would stand for it. It's not as if marriage is required to produce offspring anyway."

"Here here," Lee said. "Won't see me shackled down any time soon, that's certain." A general round of laughter followed his statement of the obvious.

Alicia Spinnet, who had been standing nearby, looked astonished though. "But Hermione, don't you want to get married?"

"No, not at this point. Why should I?" Hermione said, trying her best to keep her voice friendly, rather than tense. "I'm very happy with George right now, as things are." George kissed the top of her head and she smiled up at him.

"Besides, it's a desperate law that is unenforceable if you think about," George added. "How precisely would they manage to match every single witch or wizard in Britain up? Can you imagine? The arithmancy alone required for such a mandate would take years to work out and it would be fought tooth and nail. Nah, I think it's like the attempt to impose a time limit on Quidditch, a total non-starter."

Conversation flowed back to Quidditch, and after a few moments, Hermione excused herself to the loo. She was washing her hands when she heard voices in the hallway, and froze when she recognized Molly and George.

"Mum, this is not a topic that is open for discussion. Now or ever," George said in a hushed, but angry voice.

"But George, just consider how this looks. Living together without being married? I know I raised you better than that," came Molly's disappointed voice.

"Neither Hermione nor I see any need to get married so young. I'm very glad that it worked well for you and Dad, but Hermione's dead right about about how archaic it is. And for Merlin's sake, Mum, we've only been together a short time. Maybe someday it will feel right, but for the moment, we're just focused on right now," George said with a sigh.

"I just don't think she's right for you, Georgie. Hermione is a nice girl, but she's very serious and -" Molly was cut off.

"Mum, I don't think you understand me very well if you are about to say what I think you're about to say. I don't want to talk about this," George said sharply.

"So that's how it's going to be then?"

"How what is going to be?" George snapped. "It's very straightforward, really. Hermione and I are partners, in every possible sense of the word. You can accept that, and start treating her kindly, or you can continue on the way you are, and you won't see us. Please don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, I know all about the sort of nasty things you've said about her."

"I see. So you're going to take up with a . . . a . . . scarlet woman over your family? After everything that's happened?" Molly's voice was shrill and dangerous.

"First, she's no scarlet woman, any more than your own daughter is. Second, it's not a matter of choosing one over the other unless you make it so, Mum. If you can accept that we care for each other and make each other happy, then there is no choice to be made," George said, his voice filled with frustration.

Tears welled in Hermione's eyes as she listened to this exchange. The very last thing she wanted was to be at the center of a divide in this family she loved as her own, and it seemed to be happening just before her. Whatever Molly said after was drowned by the rushing thump of her own heart beating, but when she heard footsteps stride quickly down the hall, she quickly opened the door. George was alone, leaning against the wall, looking quite drained.

"I didn't realize you were here," he said, his voice deflated. "I suppose you heard some of that?"

Hermione nodded. George opened his arms, and she stepped into them. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. This isn't what I wanted."

"Of course not. But I've told you before, it's not your fault. Remember how she was with Fleur? It takes her awhile to come to terms with her babies being grown up. She'll come around eventually, we just have to tough it out."

"I hate it," Hermione said, her voice thick and choked.

"Me too, really," George said without a trace of humor. "But there's not many options, and if it weren't you, it would be something else. And all things together, I'm quite glad of having you in the bargain." They stayed like that, arms wrapped round each other in the corridor outside the loo for a few moments, until interrupted by a cheerful Bill.

"Oi, there you lot are! Fleur says it's about time for cake to be served," he said.

"Right, just give us a few more minutes, yeah, Bill?" George said, looking down to see Hermione's still wet eyes.

"Did something happen?" Bill asked, slowly realizing they weren't the picture of ease.

"Mum," George said simply. "Should have considered someone might have been in the loo to overhear," he added dryly, glancing at the clearly distraught Hermione.

Bill nodded grimly. "I see. I'll tell Fleur you're freshening up then, and we'll see you back outside in a bit." Hermione nodded gratefully, wiping her eyes with a knuckle, as Bill departed. George moved then, tugging Hermione with him, into the loo.

He ordered her to sit on the closed toilet lid and dug around the cabinet for a washcloth. On finding one, he wet it with cool water and handed it to Hermione.

"Now, just close your eyes and rest that on there for a few moments, it'll make sure you don't look as if you'd been weeping. I'm sorry you overheard that, it was stupid of me even to engage her in that, but I thought she might be more reasonable since she was willing to come at all." George sighed, as Hermione pressed the cloth to her eyes.

"No, I'd rather you at least tried to talk to her about the situation. Maybe she'll think about something you've said. You sounded fairly reasonable," Hermione said hopefully.

"If logic and rationality were the problem, we'd be well set. But it's not, unfortunately." He was quiet for a moment before adding, "You know, when I pictured us sneaking off to the loo together, I didn't envision you trying to erase evidence of tears and our discussing my mum." George's tone was wry, and despite the heaviness in her spirit, Hermione chuckled.

"No I can see how you might have had other ideas. Why you think I'd go along with them, I'm not sure. Do I seem like public assignations are my kink?"

George laughed. "Oh, Hermione, I think you could very well get off in here under the right set of circumstances."

"What are the right set of circumstances, then?" Hermione asked, her eyebrow raised in disbelief. "They are expecting us back outside."

"The right set of circumstances? Would probably involve me telling you I want you in here, and then when I got you here, I would kiss your neck, right at this spot," he said, pressing his lips to the location, and smiling against her neck when she shuddered slightly. He moved to speak lowly in her ear, causing Hermione to flush with warmth spreading from his breath hot at her ear.

"I would slide my hands down your arms, then up your sides," he said, doing what he described aloud. "I would run my hands over your breasts, and kiss your throat, just here, and then I'd pick you up and set you on the basin, and run my hands up under your dress -"

There was a knock at the door, and Hermione groaned aloud. George winked at her and opened the door to find Lee smirking on the other side, arms crossed.

"I was sent to fetch you. Apparently, I'm the only one brave enough to come and find you if you're off in a secluded location. Sadly for me, you're not even doing anything interesting. Hermione isn't nearly flushed enough to have just gotten off. Losing your touch, Georgie?"

"Oh, shove off, Jordan. We're coming," George said, laughing. Lee pushed away from the wall and strolled away, humming, hands in his pockets. "Ah, well. There's always later, love."

Hermione reached up and pulled him into a short but intense kiss. "There had better be something fantastic later now you've got me all worked up," she warned.

George linked his fingers with hers and gave her a promising squeeze and they finally went to rejoin the party. No sooner had Hermione reappeared than Fleur levitated out a beautifully decorated and lit cake, and the crowd gathered around her to sing and cheer. Just as the singing finished, Hermione blushing to be the center of attention, there was a tell-tale crackle followed by an explosion of light above them. George wrapped his arms around Hermione and she leaned against his chest, the pair swaying slightly, as a parade of incredible and increasingly complex and beautiful fireworks colored the sky. After the final explosion dissipated in a shower of golden sparks, she heard George whisper in her ear, "Happy birthday, Hermione love."

"Thank you, for everything," she said, snuggling into him for a moment. There was chattering going on all around them, but for a moment they were aware only of each other. Of course, the moment was only passing, and soon cake was served and Hermione was being hugged and kissed by everyone she'd not yet mingled with. Arthur came over to give her a hug, and Hermione felt again a stab of guilt when she saw how tired and careworn he appeared. He made no mention of anything amiss though, simply chatted amiably and asked George if he fancied breakfast soon. George readily agreed, surprising and pleasing Hermione, and Arthur took his leave.

Other faces appeared, but Harry was not among them. For all the anxiety over inviting him, Hermione could admit to feeling a bit put out that he'd not come. Ron just gave a half-hearted shrug when asked, and said that he'd hoped to make it, but there was something at the Ministry that had held him up. It felt a flimsy excuse, but Ron was perfectly straightforward about it, with no evidence of embarrassment or lying, so Hermione reluctantly tried to push it out of her mind and enjoy the remainder of the party.

As the evening wore down, Hermione found herself seated in the lounge, listening to Lee and Ron animatedly discuss Chudley's chances against Tunstill, and they were all surprised when the floo activated, and Harry tumbled out. Awkwardly, he stood up and straightened his wrinkled robes, which, Hermione noted with a frown, were his Auror Trainee robes. Ron had stiffened up, and was also frowning at his best mate, and even Lee could see Harry seemed agitated.

Harry fidgeted, looking somewhere over Hermione's shoulder, rather than directly at her. "Er, look, Hermione. I'm really quite sorry about everything."

Lee unobtrusively stood up, feeling that he should give them some privacy to discuss this issue, but also thinking that George may want to know about what was happening. Evidently, Harry had realized George wasn't immediately before him, because he paused in whatever he was about to say to ask about him. "Where is George? I, uh, think he needs to be here."

"I'll just go fetch him, mate. I think he's just outside," Lee said quickly, as he headed for the door.

"I appreciate your apology, Harry," Hermione started to say, but Harry raised his hand to stop her.

"Wait, Hermione. Please wait for George," he said, looking so serious that Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. They sat together, Ron's frowning gaze darting rapidly between them, a puzzled look on his face as if he were trying to work out something critical.

George appeared, sans Lee, a few moments later, looking carefully neutral. Harry nodded grimly to him, and then seemed to draw upon his resolve, as George settled on the sofa next to Hermione, draping an arm around her.

"Right. Well. I'm sorry about what I said and acted, and I thought that maybe I could try to make it up to you. I wasn't sure how, but I really did think about what you said, about how you've changed, and how things are different for you now." He took a deep breath, seeming to collect his thoughts. "We've been learning about the various ways to trace and track people in our training courses, and I had an idea and I spoke with Kingsley about it and he gave me permission." Harry stopped suddenly, running his hand through his messy hair and sticking his hands in his pockets, never quite meeting Hermione's eyes.

"Permission to do what, Harry?" Hermione asked sharply, a feeling of dread growing in her stomach. Ron's face suddenly looked stricken and George had a horrible presentiment about what Harry would say next.

"Permission to search out your parents. I know you can't retrieve them, but I thought maybe if you knew they were well, you'd feel a bit better about things," he said, licking his lips in an unconsciously anxious gesture.

"What's happened?" she whispered, because she could see it on his face, and his whole manner screamed out that there was bad news, and that he would rather do just about anything than tell her. There seemed to be a long pause, while Harry looked down and rocked on his feet before finally looking her in the eyes.

"Your dad, Hermione. He's dead." Harry said abruptly.

-o0o-

_A/N: Oh, dear. Poor Hermione. Next chapter should be coming (relatively) quickly. Once this week is done, I'll have a brief window of downtime at work before things go completely pear-shaped, and the next chapter is already well underway. Actually, I'm mapped out now to the end (heavy sigh), which is sort of incredible given that this whole piece started out as a simple writing exercise, meant to be a few pages only. Thanks for reading, I hope you continue to enjoy. As always, I love to hear from you, especially about this one. Hope everyone is well. Cheers._


	17. Chapter 17

_Disclaimer: The characters, history and universe utilized here are borrowed from JK Rowling et al; my writing is solely for enjoyment and no profit is made or copyright infringement intended._

-o0o-

Chapter 17

-o0o-

Hermione felt a whirring sensation round her head, a sudden onset of dizziness, though she hadn't moved. Harry seemed far away in that moment, and she was very aware of her own heart beating too quickly, and of George's presence because of his now painfully tight grip.

Distantly, as though through a great deal of water, she heard herself ask, "How did he die?"

"It wasn't Death Eaters, if that's what you are thinking. There's no sign that anyone ever tracked them. He was simply killed in a car accident; the car he was driving was hit head on with another when the driver of that car apparently fell asleep behind the wheel. It was instantaneous. He wouldn't have been in pain."

"And my mum?" she asked in an oddly clear tone of voice.

"She's fine. From what I gathered, she has made some very good friends there in Canberra, where they eventually settled. Sad, but getting on with things."

"When did this happen?" she asked, still in a preternaturally calm way. There was a sense of surreality, a dreamlike state coloring every feeling and action.

"About six weeks ago, apparently," Harry said, apologetically. Hermione felt herself nodding jerkily, a feeling of icy numbness settling over her. She was frozen, unable to move, really, wondering when she would wake up.

"Hermione?" George said softly in her ear, and she was again aware of his tight grip on her, and that was real in a way that was awful and reassuring, because if he was real than so was this moment, and she couldn't quite comprehend what Harry was saying.

With great effort, she turned her face to George, looking blankly into his distressed face and sympathetic hazel eyes. Again, the dizziness swept over her, and she blinked. The whirring seemed to grow in volume and her heart was beating so fast and she couldn't breathe, not really, though she was trying and everything seemed to grow dim at the edges . . .

-o0o-

George regarded Hermione with some concern, as she seemed not to be hearing what Harry was saying. She had gotten very stiff, and very pale, and when he called her name, she only gave him a hollow look, no expression in her brown eyes. Her breathing seemed to be growing more shallow and quick, as if she were about to start gasping or panting for air.

Harry gave a shout, Ron began yelling for Fleur. George, however, recognized the signals of an impending panic attack, having seen this happen during the war, and began rubbing her back, urging her to rest her head on her knees, to try and slow her breathing down. He kept up a constant litany of low, soothing chatter; urging her to breathe in to his count of three, then exhale even more slowly, to focus only on breathing for the moment until she was breathing normally and seemed ready to sit up, which she did slowly. By this point, the living room had begun to fill with the people who were still about, wands out, drawn by the shouting. Fleur looked bewildered, Bill angry, Lee was wide-eyed. Hermione looked desolate.

George pressed a kiss to her forehead and then glanced up at Bill. "Firewhiskey, please. She's had a shock." Bill pressed his lips together, and glanced suspiciously at Harry, who looked abashed.

"George?" Hermione said in a near whimper.

"Yes, love?" he asked quietly; in the background he heard Ron explaining to Fleur and whoever else was about what had happened. He vaguely heard a few gasps and Fleur's quiet expression of pity, but his focus was on Hermione.

"It's a dream, isn't it? Just a bad dream? We're at home, aren't we, and you're going to wake me up soon, right?" she said in a pleading tone that nearly broke his heart.

Bill appeared, a glass of firewhiskey in each hand. George took one and held it to Hermione's lips. "Here, drink this," he said. It was a sign of her shock that she didn't question him, though he knew she didn't care for the smell or taste of firewhiskey. A gulp later, she was sputtering and coughing, her cheeks no longer frighteningly white due to the heat of the drink. George quickly took the second glass Bill offered and tossed it back, appreciating the hit of it to free him of his own stupor.

"It's not a dream, is it?" she whispered. George felt tears form in his eyes, but he shook his head anyway, feeling an aching sadness in his chest, when her face crumpled in a silent sob. He sent a pleading look at Bill and pulled Hermione in close against his chest, rocking her as she began to cry in earnest. Quickly, and quietly, Bill herded the stragglers out of the living room, save Lee.

Lee squeezed George's shoulder and leaned down to whisper in his ear, "Anything you or she need, anytime mate. Just send your Patronus. I mean it." George nodded, and smoothed Hermione's hair with his hand.

The initial storm of Hermione's grief subsided in a few minutes, but George knew from experience this was only a temporary lull. She seemed to still be in shock, only too tired to maintain the frenzy of a few moments before, a dull look in her eyes.

"Let's go home, yeah? At least you'll be more comfortable there," he said softly, feeling suddenly foolish. What a stupid thing to say, as if going home would make her feel any better, as if pajamas instead of a cocktail dress would somehow ease the grief of knowing her father was dead.

Hermione gave a sort of shrug, and allowed George to help her up from the sofa. Fleur appeared in the doorway, speaking quietly. "Are you certain zat you should go? You can stay here eef eet would be eazier."

"I think it's better if we go back to the flat, thanks though Fleur. I'm sorry . . ." George trailed off. Hermione was staring at the floor, tears slipping down her cheeks again.

Fleur shook her head and made a sound of protest. "No, no. Eet could not be 'elped. I will bring some food by for you tomorrow. Please, eef zere iz anyzing I or Beel can do -" George cut her off with a nod of acknowledgment, his chest tightening with the remembrance of how many time he heard that phrase uttered after Fred died, as if it were something other than an empty platitude. There was nothing anyone could do to ease the central problem; death is too permanent and life too fleeting.

"We'll just apparate, and I'll see you tomorrow, Fleur." He wrapped an arm around Hermione and led her outside towards the apparition point. Harry stepped up anxiously, and it took every ounce of George's self control not to hex him. Logically, of course, it was not Harry's fault; Hermione's father had been the victim of accident and bad luck, and in trying to mend fences with Hermione, Harry had become an unwelcome messenger. That did not, however, mean he was to blame for the current situation. Still, George was determined to spare Hermione any additional pain, and gave Harry a hard stare, which he seemed to interpret correctly, as he backed away without drawing Hermione's attention. It was not long before George had guided them to the apparition point. Once there, he scooped Hermione up in his arms, and without looking back, turned on his heel and was gone.

-o0o-

Later, Hermione could only remember flashes of images, like little clips of a movie that played. She could remember George undressing her tenderly, and she could remember him gathering her in his arms while she wept and wept, paroxysms of grief that she could not hope to contain. A sore throat and aching eyes, and a purple and green bottle, and many hours later, sunlight.

She studied the pattern the light filtering through the curtains made, and for an instant Hermione had the urge to wake George for a lazy morning interlude. Then remembrance crashed back down with the full weight of what Harry had told her the night before; her father was dead. Tears filled her eyes as she struggled to assimilate that basic fact.

Hermione tried to muffle her cries, but George was awake in an instant. Once again, he held her close, stroking her hair, and keened into his chest while he smoothed her hair and made the same soothing noises he remembered her making for him months ago. He remembered how that grief felt, the blackness, the pain that left you nearly gasping for air, the intense desire to be anywhere else; he would do just about anything for her not to feel that.

After a time, the sobs slowed, and Hermione pushed away from him to roll onto her back. She lay there unmoving, unspeaking, unseeing for the arm that was covering her eyes. George watched her for a moment or two, and then got out of bed.

"Just stay in bed, love. I'm going to get you something cool to drink and something for your eyes. Back in a mo," he said in an even tone. When he returned with a chilled butterbeer and a stoppered bottle, she hadn't moved. "Right, love. Try three drops of this in each eye and try to drink something, yeah?"

It was a moment or two before she moved, but Hermione did finally reach for the drops. Her eyes were red and puffy and sore, but the drops soothed them immediately. Her throat was raw and scratchy, and little as she wanted food or drink, she knew logically that it was a better idea to drink something. She swallowed a bit without tasting it, then a bit more, to George's relief.

She sat up, arms wrapped around herself. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess," she said quietly.

"Hermione, please don't apologize. Of course you're a mess, your dad – well. I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. I wish it weren't real," George sighed, running a hand through his hair, and then hesitantly reaching out to touch her leg.

"It's just . . . they were supposed to be safe," she said thickly. "I sent them there to be safe, he wasn't supposed to die." Fresh tears began dripping from her eyes, making long tracks down her cheeks.

"I know, love," was all George could say, before Hermione began weeping in earnest again. He scrambled to hold her, and she clung to him. She said something in the midst of her sobs but it was incoherent to him. Not until she had calmed down again did he understand what she had said, and only because she repeated it once again before it set her off into another fit of sobbing.

"It's all my fault," she whispered, eyes welling once again, as George's heart constricted painfully in his chest.

"Oh, sweet heart, it's not your fault, not at all. It was an accident, love. Could have happened anywhere, could've happened right here in London. Not your fault," he said, holding her more securely.

"Yes it is. I sent them there. I sent them to Australia. If I hadn't sent them to Australia, he wouldn't have been hit by that car and he'd be alive today. My mum wouldn't be alone in the world." Another burst of tears stopped her words.

"No," George said in a pained voice. "You've told me yourself that it doesn't work like that. I know. I know the feeling, how easy it is to blame yourself for a decision, to see the path that could have avoided the end result. But you kept your parents safe. They'd probably have been killed and tortured if you had left them here in England, love. You did the best you could at the time. It's not your fault that some poor sod feel asleep whilst driving and hit your dad."

Hermione's sobs stilled and eventually she nodded, though George knew by the way she avoided his eyes that she didn't believe it any more than he had the first time she had told him he wasn't responsible for Fred's death. Took time, something like that, he expected; he still felt he was to blame sometimes. Maybe he always would. He sighed, and then sat back and took her face in his hands, gently wiping her cheeks dry with his thumbs, before kissing her forehead, and then resting his own against hers.

"I know it doesn't help, Hermione, I know it sounds and feels empty and meaningless, but I am so sorry. More sorry than I can possibly say."

Hermione swallowed thickly and said in a hoarse voice. "I know. Thank you, George."

"Look, let me fix something to eat. It's been ages since you've eaten."

"I'm not hungry," she said mechanically.

"I'm sure you aren't, but will you please try to choke some down? You don't have a lot of weight to lose, love."

Hermione shrugged indifferently.

"Porridge easy enough to swallow, you think?" She shrugged again in response. "Right. Well, you think you're up for a shower?"

"I dunno," she said listlessly, picking at the sheets and coverlet apathetically.

"Love, I know exactly how you feel right now. But try to get up and move about a bit," he said patiently, encouragingly, while feeling a frisson of exasperation just on the edges of consciousness and a faint surprise at the emotion. Bloody hell, Hermione must have been a sodding saint to have put up with all his moods if this was any taste of what she'd live with for the past four months.

Hermione turned a mutinous face towards him. "I don't want to take a shower," she said in a flat voice that brooked no discussion.

"That's fine, only a suggestion, love. I'll be in the kitchen. Call if you need me," he said, kissing her forehead as he normally did.

When he reached the kitchen, knowing he was out of sight and probably hearing range, he released a shaky sigh. He had no bloody idea how to help her right now. Well, worry about that later. For the moment, he needed to get a porridge on and let Verity in and explain the situation and give her instructions for the shop for the next day or two, which also meant showering and dressing himself.

George started water boiling for the oats, and the kettle going for tea, and since it was clear Hermione hadn't stirred from bed, he hurried into the loo for a quick shower, opting only to brush his teeth before hopping in and ignoring the stubble on his cheeks. He summoned fresh clothing from the bedroom and pulled it on as he made his way back to the kitchen to find the water near boiling. Carefully adding the oats, he began stirring to achieve an even consistency. After stirring nearly constantly for what seemed a solid five minutes, the porridge looked creamy enough and seemed to be heated through. George added a pinch of cinnamon and a dash of brown sugar and two handfuls of chopped dried apple pieces to the porridge before he ladled half between two bowls and kept the rest over just enough heat to keep it warm.

He heard Hermione croak in a rusty-sounding voice behind him, "Did you boil the oats in water or milk?"

"Water, why?"

"I think it tastes better when you do water. Hogwarts always did milk, and the texture and taste were a bit off."

"Ah. Do you want butter, cream, syrup or something else over top? I'm going to set some fruit slicing in a mo," George said in a light tone.

"Bit of cream, I suppose." Hermione advanced slowly into the kitchen, working her way unobtrusively to the table. George heeded her request, and rescued the tea kettle just as it began to sing its off-key tune. A chime sounded through the flat, and he cursed under his breath. Setting her bowl before her, and casting a charm at his to ensure it didn't turn into a cold, lumpy mess, George said hastily that he was going down to let Verity in and would return shortly, exhorting her to try eating a bit before rushing downstairs.

He lowered the wards and Verity let herself in, followed by her friend Clara who was working half-days. Verity gave him a look of irritation as she hung her travelling cloak behind the register.

"Really, boss, is it necessary to keep the full wards up this late in the morning?" she asked petulantly.

"Sorry, Verity. It's been hectic this morning, I've only just had the chance to come downstairs," he said, running his hand through his hair.

"Staying upstairs today then?" she questioned as she eyed his casual attire.

"Yeah, or in the workroom. Look, something's happened," he said, sighing. "Hermione's dad. We found out last night he passed away. Killed in an automobile accident. She's a bit of a mess right now, understandably."

Verity's face registered shock, then sympathy. "Oh, I'm so sorry. How awful. Of course. We'll be fine down here. Not so busy now the kids are back at Hogwarts, more owl orders than anything, and things seem to be well-stocked."

"Feel free to knock us up if you need something. I'll be checking back in, but it may be a bit before I'm down here full time again. I dunno. Don't be afraid to disturb me, yeah? And please make sure that Juliana is recording the sales correctly, yeah? And that the storage room doesn't become a complete mess." Verity had barely begun nodding before George turned back to the workroom. His desire to be back with Hermione was undeniable.

Back upstairs, he found her still at the table, slowly stirring her porridge, two cups of tea now joining the bowls. He was pleased to see that she had eaten at least some of the portion before her, and felt up to making tea. George realized with a start that he was ravenous, and dug in.

"Everything all right down there?" Hermione asked distantly.

"Verity's in, and Clara. I told her we wouldn't be about for awhile. To knock me up if they need anything, but it's under control while Verity's around."

Silence descended, broken only by the sound of eating. Under George's direct gaze, Hermione forced down a few more spoonfuls, and drank her tea. When it was clear that she was done, he vanished the remainder of her portion and set a preservation charm on the rest. He felt superfluous, useless, and in a random thought he understood how the flat had come to be cleaned so thoroughly the first time she visited. Washing the dishes now gave him something to do, something that made him feel he wasn't a totally ineffectual waste of space in the face of his mourning partner.

Unfortunately, the dishes took mere moments to clean and the kitchen was tidied moments later. George looked around a bit helplessly, and Hermione pushed away from the table. He took a step towards her and then she hurried to him, allowing him to hug her close, feeling relieved to be touching her again.

"I don't know what to do with myself," she said hollowly. "It feels wrong to just sit about, but I can't think of anything to do. I feel so dull and listless."

"Yeah, awful feeling isn't it? But you've had a big shock. It's worth taking some time to let that sink in. If you start doing something complicated, you're likely to botch it when you lose your concentration."

"Which is why you always pack whizbangs when you've been off by yourself for a bit," Hermione said. "I'm so tired."

"Why don't you take a nap then, love?" he asked.

"I've been out of bed for an hour at most. It seems silly," she said.

"It's not. Look, why don't we read for a bit? If you fall asleep that's fine. I'll wake you after a couple of hours. If you don't, well, then at least it'll be a distraction."

"I've never wished so much for a telly before," Hermione sighed. "Turning on something entirely brainless like an afternoon of golf or a programme on home décor sounds really lovely."

"Let's start with a book, and go from there. Maybe after some rest, you'll feel up to getting out of the flat and doing something mindless." Hermione shrugged, and allowed George to lead her back to the bedroom. He choose a muggle book they'd not read together yet, which he was unfamiliar with, with some bloke on the cover who looked sort of like Nearly Headless Nick. "How about this one, then?"

"The Three Musketeers? I think you'll like it," Hermione said softly, before swallowing thickly. "My dad read that to me when I was eight."

George winced. He'd been hoping to distract her, not bash her over the head with it. "Is there is something else you'd rather read?"

"No, it's fine. It's a good story. You want to read aloud for a bit?" she said, curling up into his side. He was semi-reclined, one arm looped around her, the other turning the pages of the book that he'd charmed to levitate before them.

Clearing his throat, he began to read to her. Within twenty pages, he could feel her deep, even breathing, and knew she'd fallen asleep. He marked the page and set the book aside for later, and looked down at his witch. Even in sleep her brow was furrowed, her eyes puffy, her lips pouting just a bit. Godric, his own heart ached for her, and he'd never met her father, and a further sadness pulled at him. She had been right; he was not so far removed from his pain and his own loss. The walls he'd built to hold in his grief over Fred seemed shakier now, as if they might collapse and overwhelm him with that raw agony once again.

But no, Hermione needed him now. Just as she'd pushed aside her own sorrow, over her parents and Fred and Tonks and Lupin, to help him cope in that early time, he had to do the same for her. If only someone would come by and tell him _how_, it would be much easier, he thought wryly. Hermione moved in her sleep, rolling from the cocoon at his side onto her back, and George pushed himself up and off the bed. He made sure she was covered by the sheet and quietly shut the door. Feeling at an utter loss, he was contemplating a quick run downstairs to check on the girls and the shop when the floo chimed. He undid the wards and Bill's head appeared in the fire.

"Hullo, George. Fleur was quite insistent that I bring over some soup and I just wanted to check on Hermione, and see how she is doing this morning," she said.

"Come through if you like, she's asleep," George said, and a few moments later, his eldest brother had appeared in a billow of fine ash, with a large covered dish. George took the dish from him and set it on the counter as they greeted each other with nod.

"So, how is she?" Bill asked seriously, as George began making fresh tea.

"Not good," he said honestly. "Cried half the night until I fed her dreamless sleep potion, and then again most of the morning. She's pretty well convinced that it's entirely her fault because she sent them to Australia to begin with."

Bill nodded sympathetically. "It'll take some time, that. But you know she's an intelligent, level witch, and she will be fine in the end. You've got give her time to mourn properly."

"I know that, Bill," he said a bit tightly.

"Er, yeah, perhaps better than most do. It is not so easy being the strong one," he said, sipping at the tea George handed him.

"No, I suppose not," he said. "Was it hard for Fleur, after you were injured?"

"Yes, but it was not the same. Being physically different is sometimes hard for me, but emotional scars are harder to bear, I think, and that's what you're dealing with," he said softly.

They sat companionably together for a moment, before Bill laid a hand on George's arm, and looked at him seriously. "George, I know that things are still difficult for you. And they will be for a very long time, because of who Fred was to you. Take care of yourself as well as her, yeah?" George felt a lump form in his throat, as he nodded.

"Good! If you should need either of us, just floo. I have brought you Fleur's soup, make certain that she eats, and you too, or Fleur will come and force feed you. She was surprisingly stern about the instructions. She's quite worried about you two, my wife," Bill said with a small grimace, and George found himself smiling. Bill had known what he was about when he married Fleur, even if the rest of them had not seen it at first. And George knew, deep inside, that it was the same with Hermione. If only it could be so evident to others in his family. . .

Bill nodded, almost as if he were reading his thoughts and banished his now empty cup to the sink. He stood and squeezed George's hand before disappearing back to his home. George was grateful for the visit, and his words, but was still feeling bereft. He didn't want to go downstairs and get involved in anything too taxing, but it was against his nature to do nothing. In the end, even though he knew Hermione disapproved, he went downstairs and, after checking things were still running smoothly in the shop, retrieved his fireworks making supplies and set to packing and charming whiz-bangs in the lounge, while Hermione slept.

-o0o-

Two days passed in a similar fashion, Hermione staying mostly in the bedroom, in their bed, listless and pale, prone to fits of weeping, particularly when George was not around, having gone to check on the shop. Several people dropped by the flat to pay their condolences, to check in on one or the other, but few people saw Hermione. George kindly greeted them, accepted the food they brought and generally saw them out shortly after. Hermione agreed to a few minutes with Harry and Ron, and ate an entire meal with Lee Jordan, but that seemed to be the limit.

Since Lee had left them, Hermione had shut herself into her own bedroom. George could hear the sounds of her muffled weeping, and began to grow concerned. He was torn between invading her privacy and wanting to be certain she was at least physically well. Hermione hadn't showered or eaten a full meal since Harry broke the news, and while George remembered that lethargy well, he also remembered how little good it did anyone.

After three hours, and beginning to worry about dinner, George finally knocked on her door.

"I'm fine, George," came a weary voice.

"I don't think that's true, Hermione. And I'm getting worried about you, love," he called softly through the door.

It was a great surprise when the door was yanked open with a sudden, violent force. An angry Hermione, face blotchy from the afternoon of weeping, stood before him, glaring with such force that George nearly took a step backward. She was practically seething, and George felt his own temper rise just looking at her.

"I need you to leave me alone," she said, grinding out the words.

"If that's what you would prefer," George said a bit stiffly, trying to hide his hurt. "I just wanted to make sure you were ok. I'll be downstairs then; Verity told me earlier that they could do with some new snackboxes." George bit back the sigh that rose when he looked at her, and turned away. He was three steps down the corridor when he heard her speak again, this time in a trembling voice.

"Damn it, George, just stop."

He turned around and quickly recovered the distance between them. "Stop? What do you need?"

"Stop that! Stop being so bloody understanding and kind and helpful. You have to stop," she said, growing more agitated with each word.

George looked surprised. "What do you mean by that, Hermione?"

"You have to stop being nice to me!" she yelled, taking him aback with the force of her words.

He took a step towards her, thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets, studying her. "Why would I do that? Honestly, love, I'm trying here. I know I'm not very good at this, nothing on what you did for me, but I'm trying to give you whatever you need. But I don't understand what you're asking for."

"I'm asking you to stop pretending, George. Stop being kind. I don't deserve it," Hermione said, her voice cracking with pain.

"Hermione, no," he said, a pained expression on his face.

"No. I can't bear it any longer. I can't take you being so bloody perfect and pretending it's not my fault, that I didn't kill my father, that I'm not an awful person. Not from you," she said, starting to tear up again.

George wasted no time in trying to convince her that her perception was misguided, that she was wrong about being at fault, that it was normal to blame one's self for something like this. He simply moved and pulled her into his chest, and wrapped his long arms around her before she could do more than utter a sound of protest. Her arms hit at him, beat his shoulders, his chest, and she sobbed great heaving sobs that seemed to be wrenched out of her, and George just held her.

When the worst seemed to have passed, he pulled away from her, and took her face in his hands, and looked seriously into her eyes.

"Hermione, love, you need to understand. There is no pretending here. I'm not just trying to be nice or kind because your dad died. This isn't your fault. You didn't kill your father anymore than I killed Fred." She made a noise of protest, but he continued. "Yes, I know you think that if you'd not sent them away he would be alive, just as I think about how Fred would be alive if we'd not split up. But we did the best we could at the time. I didn't fire the curse that brought down the wall on top of my brother, and you didn't cast a sleeping charm to make that driver fall asleep and drive into your dad."

Hermione pushed at his hands, half-heartedly, her eyes again flashing dangerously, but George was not deterred. "You have to understand that no matter how much you loathe yourself for what happened, even though you shouldn't, I don't hate you and I don't think you are an awful person. I care about you more than you can imagine, and it eats me up to see you doing this to yourself. It isn't easy, you don't just suddenly believe it, but every thing you said to me about Fred is equally true about your father."

"I can't believe he's gone," she whispered.

"I know," he said softly. "But you are still here, and I'm here too. And you'll find a way to live with it. I'll do whatever I can to help you."

Hermione let loose a breath that was something between a sigh and a sob, and threw herself at George, wrapping her arms around him for the first time he could remember since she'd learned the awful news. He returned the gesture, holding her tightly, feeling some small release of fear and tension that had been steadily growing over the past day.

A small, wavering voice came from somewhere near his chest. "I'm sorry -" she began, but he cut her off immediately.

"No. No apologies for this ever. Otherwise, we'll be here all night and into the morning as I go through my rather massive list," he said with a hint of humor. "It would make me feel better if you took a shower though, and I think it might make you feel better as well."

"Getting a bit ripe, then?" she asked, with a grimace that looked as if she were trying to will it be a smile.

"No, but warm showers have surprisingly healing properties. I'll make whatever you like for dinner while you're in the loo," he said in a wheedling tone, but Hermione shook her head.

"No."

George tried to hide his disappointment and impatience, wondering for the thousandth time how she had had the patience to cope so placidly with all his mercurial moods, but she tilted her head back to look at him and spoke again.

"I'd rather you came with me," she said, looking hesitant, perhaps even scared.

He was tempted to make a lewd joke, his instinct to diffuse to tension with humor was still there, but there was a side to him that was more brittle and more aware of what laughing in the dark really meant, and he could see how fragile Hermione was in that instant. George bit back the words and just nodded at her, and allowed her to lead him to the loo. Truth be told, it was something of a relief that she had at least hinted at something more physical than the chaste kisses and embraces he'd given her in the past three days.

Bugger, that made him sound like a randy prat, and that wasn't the point, he groaned to himself as she started the shower and he slowly undressed, not quite believing she wanted him with her. It's only that since she'd moved in, since their first encounter in the depths of his grief, they'd been drawn together by some physical connection that simply felt right, that formed the basis of their relationship. The longer that went missing, the more out of his depth his felt. That made it sound more important than it was, and he gave a small grimace that was fortunately unnoticed by his partner, who was now rapidly undressing herself. George was simply grateful for some return to something that felt normal, even if it was only to see Hermione starkers at the present. Much as he had appreciated her form of distraction, he knew the sort of guilt that also carried and he knew that he wasn't going to make any sort of move until she was ready for more physical intimacy -

"George, are you coming?" she asked softly, interrupting his thoughts. Her eyes were red and puffy, with dark circles attesting to her interrupted sleep; she was pale; her hair more tangled and wild than usual and she was far more thin than she ought to have been; in that moment, he thought she was beautiful. The love and care and sadness and simple, vital humanity that poured off of her nearly made him breathless. A feeling he'd known unconsciously was there, but had never fully acknowledged to himself or named, welled up inside him and he knew that he loved her, without reservation. He blinked for a moment, and realized she was biting her lip, and stepped forward. Tenderly, a little hesitantly, he kissed her lips.

"Of course. You first," he said, trying to smile. She climbed into the shower and he followed. He watched her as she closed her eyes and shuddered a bit under the warm water, and remembered the first shower he'd taken after she arrived, and the same mix of pleasure and pain that she seemed to be experiencing. A protective urge overtook him, and when she would have reached for a shampoo bottle, he stopped her.

"Let me," he said in a voice that sounded oddly constricted to his own ears.

She nodded, watching him warily, and he gently massaged the suds through her hair, careful of the knots and tangles that had accumulated, working them gently loose, while she closed her eyes and loosely wrapped her arms around him. He carefully rinsed her curls, and then added the magical conditioner she used to keep her hair tame, and repeated the process, noting her hands beginning to wander along his back, in a softly sensual skimming touch. George reached for the soap, but she was there first, the first glimpse of a genuine smile he'd seen on her face. She began to lather his body with the soap and he copied her actions when she was done, and a slow but nevertheless arousing teasing began. Both seemed to be more cautious than either had been in some time, both gauging reactions, and comfort levels and both seeming more than willing to continue with the right signals. This continued for some time until George abruptly stepped back.

"George?" Hermione asked, a bit bewildered.

"I was thinking the bedroom might be a bit easier to manage," he said, ears turning a bit red, wanting to give her one last chance to stop before things got too far.

"Right. Good idea," she said, sounding relieved.

The shower was turned off, and they didn't mess about with towels, a flick of George's wand was sufficient to dry them thoroughly. George firmly took Hermione's hand and they walked the short distance to their bedroom. Feeling more certain now that Hermione wouldn't pull away or hex him, George was less hesitant, more confident. Hermione stretched out beside him, looking more peaceful than she had in ages. It was on the tip of George's tongue to whisper how he felt in her ear, but he held back. She was still vulnerable, and given how she'd reacted when he said it so thoughtlessly before, he could not say so now.

Instead, he poured himself into showing her as well as he could. His attention to her was thorough and gentle, and Hermione was responsive. There was a deep sense of fulfillment when he slid into her warmth, a completeness that made him feel more whole than any time since Fred had died. George did his best to fill her, to bring her away from the grief that had cloaked her, and was pleased when she gave a contented sigh and curled up into his side when they were finished.

In an echo of his words from months before, she said, "Thank you. That was a distraction I needed badly."

"Always happy to distract you, darling," he said with an exaggerated leer. She didn't laugh, but she did smile a bit.

"George, I -" she began and trailed off. There was a pause as she gathered her thoughts and tried again. "I'm glad you're here. I think I'd be an utter mess without you."

"I could say the same, Hermione. Now, shall I finally cook some supper? You really need to eat. You've not been eating or taking proper care of yourself." he said, in a passable imitation of her scolding tones.

This time she did chuckle. "Yes, dear. I think I could eat something. Nothing heavy."

"An omelet?"

"Hardly dinner, is it?"

"Breakfast for dinner. An omelet should be light enough. Unless there is something else you want?" he asked, pushing her curls back from her face.

"No, that's fine," she said, snuggling closer to him for a moment. "I really do enjoy sharing showers with you, George. Should have done that sooner."

"Anytime, Hermione," he said, a smirk crossing his face before he could stop it. "Now, darling, you rest, I'll cook and I'll serve you breakfast-dinner in bed. Can I get you anything first?" He kissed her forehead and quickly pulled on some lounging clothes, heading into the kitchen when she shook her head.

Hermione was left by herself then, and in the pleasant haze of recent pleasure, she stretched languidly. The emotions that had overwhelmed her earlier were still there, but it was as if by allowing George to distract her physically, by allowing him to care for her, she was better able to push them to side for a bit. And she needed that bit of space to think about what George had said. She recognized her own words within his and shuddered some to think of how insensitively they'd fallen from her lips. At least when he said them, they had the ring of experience.

No matter what he told her, she knew it was ultimately her fault. Her actions had tipped the first domino in a string of dominoes that led eventually to her father being in that place at that time. Perhaps, later, she would also remember that the options she'd had at the time were somewhat limited, that she had attempted to save them from a much worse fate than happy unawareness and instant painless death. But for the moment, she could see nothing beyond her own choices. Still, Hermione thought to herself, she had made that choice ages ago. And she had agreed to live with it this summer when Kingsley talked her out of attempting to restore their memories. Hermione had been mourning her relationship with her parents for months. Wallowing now in grief because the father she'd never have seen again anyway had died was selfish, she thought. Look at what it was doing to George.

Even if his words had had little impact, the stricken look on his face, the sadness and pain in his eyes when he looked at her – Hermione couldn't make his life worse. He was doing so well these days, he'd almost seemed happy, despite the issues within his family. Making him care for her so she could dwell on the past was ungenerous at best, she sighed to herself. She owed it to George to try and stop this nonsense, to pull herself out of the depression she'd fallen into the last few days. Gathering her resolve, she decided now was the best time and she began by slipping out of bed to pull on a shirt of George's so that she was at least partially dressed in something clean.

Hermione returned to the bed, straightening the sheets, waiting, somewhat impatiently. She wasn't hungry, really, and Hermione knew she'd have to choke down some food to make George relax. He was right though, she hadn't put much weight back on after the war, and there wasn't much to lose. If Hermione was going to stop wallowing, she would have to start eating whether she wanted to or no. She was decided, her mind firmly made up. The time for mourning was past, it was unfair, unhealthy to continue in this way.

So she forced a smile when George reappeared with food, and ate more than she could really stand, trying hard to focus on George and the warm feelings he'd awoken in her when he made love to her. It wasn't as hard as she had feared, given the expression in his eyes. Yes, for him, she would do better.

-o0o-

_A/N: I apologize to those who felt the previous chapter ended on a cliffhanger (I felt that since the news was put out there, it wasn't really, but I can see your points); I didn't intend to leave you hanging! I think that things are going to be difficult for Hermione – and by extension, for George – as she comes to terms with this. Grief and guilt, in my experience walk hand in hand, even when it is apparent to others that there is nothing that could have been done differently, given what you have to work with at the time a decision is made. As always, I hope this continues to provoke, if not entertain. Cheers._


	18. Chapter 18

_Disclaimer: The characters, history and universe utilized here are borrowed from JK Rowling et al; my writing is solely for enjoyment and no profit is made or copyright infringement intended._

-o0o-

Chapter 18

-o0o-

"I'm fine," she said tightly, gripping the sheets so tightly that her knuckles were turning white.

"Nightmare?" asked a groggy George.

"Yes," Hermione admitted, images of a gruesome scene of smashed cars and Bellatrix laughing flashing before her eyes. George sat up and she did the same, so he looped one long, comforting arm around her.

"You up for a bit? Want some tea? A massage? A good shag?" he asked.

"No, to the latter two. Thanks for the offer though. I expect I'm up for a bit. You should go back to sleep," she said softly, feeling vaguely angry with herself for waking him.

"Nah, it's fine. I was having an old recurring dream I used to get in school, about Madam Hooch flying around the dungeons while Snape brewed a love potion. No need to get back to it, I know how it ends," George said.

"And how is that?" Hermione asked, but more listlessly than had been her wont.

"One nightmare is enough for the night. If I tell you, you'll only lose your ability to sleep for weeks," George said in a cheerful tone, more cheerful than he quite felt at three am. Hermione's nightmares had been getting worse; they'd neither of them had an uninterrupted night of sleep in a week between their individual horror shows. "Right. Chamomile and spearmint, then?"

"I suppose," Hermione sighed. "No, I'll come with you." She got out of bed, reaching for her dressing gown.

George followed her out of the room, down the hall to the lounge. She curled up in the corner of the couch as he set the kettle to heat. That done, he returned to her.

"You want to tell me?" he asked gently.

"No," she said curtly.

"Right then," he said, and there was a pause. Then from seemingly nowhere, he spoke again. "Did I ever tell you about our first week at Hogwarts?"

"Just about your Sorting," Hermione said, a bit of surprise coloring her voice.

"Ah, then I should tell you about how we set a record for detentions in the first week. Truly, it was an amazing spectacle," he said with a smile, settling in and telling her a ridiculous tale about increasingly outrageous dares between Fred and George that neither were willing to refuse on principle, most of which caught quite negative attention from their head of house.

George stood to make tea when the kettle sounded off and Hermione chuckled, and called to him, "What finally made you stop then?"

"Oh, Mum did. McGonagall finally wrote to her, and she sent a Howler threatening to come up and give us both a smacking in the middle of the Common Room if either of us got one more detention before the Christmas hols. Course, by that point we were fairly well bored in detention anyway, and homework was starting to pile up, so we stopped and began refining our techniques so as not to get caught." George nearly snickered as he handed Hermione a mug filled with tea and settled in beside her again.

"How well did that work?" she asked with some amusement.

"You'll note we spent very little time in detention really, though most of our pranks were in fact credited to us," George said with a satisfied smile on his face.

Hermione raised an eyebrow and said, "But I thought you were in detention a fair amount of my fourth year."

"Ah, no. We just put it out that we were, so there were no questions about where we were when were off developing more products. Angelina and Alicia and Lee would get a bit suspicious if we were just gone for a long time."

"I see," Hermione said, draining her mug.

"Any time, Hermione. So, another cup of tea or are you ready to try sleep again?"

"Back to bed, I think. I appreciate you sitting with me though. And I appreciate the distraction." She gave him a half-smile.

"You sure about that shag, then?" George asked in a teasing sort of voice. "I know that can be a fabulous sort of distraction."

"Horny bugger, aren't you?" Hermione said repressively.

"Not at all, I'm just particularly thorough in my research," George said earnestly, but seemed unable to fully contain a smile.

"What research is that, then?" Hermione asked with an air of long-suffering that was belied by the gentle smile spreading across her face.

"Didn't you know that orgasms are supposed to be the best relaxant available?" Now George couldn't hide his cheekiness.

"Right. Well, we may as well test this theory of yours then," Hermione said, her tone indifferent. However, she stopped on her way back to the bedroom to kiss George on the cheek.

They both, eventually, slept more soundly that night.

-o0o-

Hermione could feel tension setting into her shoulders. She was alone in the workroom, George having been needed on the shop floor after Clara had owled to say she'd come down with dragon pox after watching her niece for the weekend. Dragon pox! Of all things for an adult witch to catch! But since Hermione had never been exposed, and since they weren't about to expose the young children who formed the basis of their in-shop customers at this point of the year, George pulled on his magenta robes with as much good nature as he could muster.

Which left her alone in the workroom. Since her resolve to move forward from her father's death, she'd made a deliberate effort to spend as little time alone as possible. Time alone meant time to think and no outside distraction from her thoughts, which broke free when she was by herself, swirling dark as ever, still filled with guilt and reproach. Hermione did her best to ignore them, to push them aside and focus instead on a demanding potion, but it was harder than she'd imagined.

Given the necessity of time off between steps, or of waiting a precise amount of time before or after adding an ingredient, she couldn't stay constantly busy. Now she better understood why George chose to pack fireworks when he was in such a mood. Constant business, that was a better way to go than potion brewing. Now she was watching a clock tick down the required one-hundred-and-forty-nine seconds before she could add the reduction of hellebore syrup with rosehips. It was a dangerous thing, because the potion was volatile right now, and wouldn't stabilize until she added the reduction, which meant that she couldn't afford any drain on her concentration. And yet, she could feel her thoughts slipping sideways into remembrance and doubt as the clock ticked before her.

Definitely, tomorrow, she would be baking. That at least was less dangerous, would prove less costly if she did slip up and ruin a batch, and would allow her ample directions to keep her busy during baking times. Maybe she'd give the flat a thorough scrubbing, or reorganize the kitchen drawers or something. She was so focused on what she would do the following day to keep busy that she very nearly missed her window to add the syrup. Only a gurgling sound as the potion came near to over-heating pulled her from her determined reverie.

Muttering under her breath, she averted disaster as she began adding the reduction in a carefully, controlled manner, stirring three times clockwise and once anti-clockwise with every seven drops to ensure the reduction was fully mixed with the burbling potion. She had just finished the addition and was reaching for the powdered cattails to sprinkle in for binding stability when she realized the potion was not the crimson color it ought to have been, but a mockingly cheerful shade of canary yellow.

Hermione quelled the panic that rose up inside her, and reached for the syrup she'd added. It was, in fact syrup of hellebore, but not the reduction mixed with rosehips they typically used in their hair-color-changing potions, but instead a more potent variety of reduction of hellebore, this one mixed with belladonna. She now had no idea how stable the potion was or how it would react to any other ingredients being added.

The tension that had been building flashed up into a moment of pure fury at herself. Of course she would botch this potion, she was too distracted to do it properly, and anyway, hadn't she effectively proven that she over-estimated her own abilities? That was at the root of all her ignored thoughts about her parents anyway, wasn't it then? She'd been arrogant enough to assume that she knew best for them and then to send them off with no means of retrieving them later, and thus had sent her father off to die. Naturally, if she were capable of such a mistake, she would be likely to bugger up a potion that utilized some of the more rare or exotic ingredients they purchased and be left with a potentially unstable mess that was bubbling merrily away before her.

She wanted to shout, to hurl the potion at the wall, to hit something, she felt so angry over this stupid lapse of attention (over what she'd done to her parents, a voice whispered in her head). It took nearly all of Hermione's considerable control to grip the worktable before her, and her knuckles were white with the tightness of the grip, as if she could hold on to sanity if she focused on the table. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she did her best to ignore them. For Merlin's sake, this was stupid! Pointless! She was not going to wallow in her father's death. She was not going to give into self-indulgent displays of mourning.

Hermione took a deep breath, and then another, and forced down the anger that had momentarily overwhelmed her, and cleared her throat. She called for George, hoping he'd be near enough to hear her, as she didn't want to leave a potentially volatile potion untended.

She was in luck, because he popped his head in almost immediately, looking a bit flustered. "Yes, love? Everything all right?" Hermione didn't notice her death-grip on the table, but George did, frowning to himself over it.

A forced smile appeared on Hermione's face. "Sorry to be a bother, but I've gone and buggered this up. I was making hair changing potions, but added the wrong reduction of hellebore, and I'm not entirely certain about what I've created here and wanted to be careful not to do something that might cause havoc."

George relaxed a shade, remembering how cross Hermione had been after turning herself yellow with a botched brew, and strode over to observe the brew, which was still a cheerfully bubbling yellow, looking rather like a Welsh rarebit, he thought.

He poked gently at it with a stirrer, noting its consistency and response to stimulus, and asked where she'd deviated from the recipe and how. She explained the steps, and showed him the bottle, and was surprised to see him grin. He lowered the flame on the cauldron, and then summoned a jar of what looked like abandoned hermit crab shells.

"Try smashing two of these to bits and then adding them in quickly," he said, concentrating. "I expect that with this and possibly a bit of swans' down, we'll come very near a hair-loss potion. It'll want testing, of course, but if it works it could be a nice little invention. If nothing else, it's something to test, anyway, innit?"

Hermione closed her eyes in relief. "Right. The belladonna will be weakened by the swans down. Thank you. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"Well, when you've got a potion you're afraid could explode if you try to vanish it, it's harder to think on your feet. I'll be getting back then. You going to be ok?"

Hermione nearly laughed mirthlessly at that question, so similar to the taunts in her own head as it was, but managed to only smile grimly. "Yes, I'm fine, George. Thanks."

He studied her for a moment, hesitated, but finally kissed her on the forehead and returned to the shop. Alone again, Hermione sagged against the table. She wondered how long she could continue this way. Logically, she knew that it would pass, it would become easier. She lived with the proof of that, but it was precisely the fact that she knew how far from his old self George still was that ate at her. Hermione knew logically that George would never be the same, no matter how well he became, and in her current low spirits, she felt only the overwhelming sense of how long and hard it was to return to a place of relative contentment or peace. Pretending she was anywhere near that was exhausting to her, and yet she couldn't bring herself to do anything else.

-o0o-

Three days passed and Hermione's patience seemed to pass with them. She hid in the workroom, but even that wasn't enough to keep her temper from rising. Sleep had become elusive, her nightmares occurring with even greater frequency than George's, and for the first time, Hermione spent a night in her own bedroom. She had hoped it would help her sleep; instead, she'd stayed up feeling guilty whenever the image of George's face, eyes flashing with hurt, popped into her head. Giving it up as a bad job after five hours of tossing and turning and dozing, she crept back into their bed early in the morning. The relief that emanated from George when he sighed and pulled her into his embrace gnawed at her, no less than the relief she felt at being held close to him again.

But the two hours of sleep that morning weren't enough, the strain of trying to ignore the grief she was feeling was too great. Everything irritated her, it seemed as if the universe were conspiring against her to remind her that she was not counted amongst the happy and carefree. Clara had still not returned to work, and while Juliana had taken more hours, George was still called on frequently to help, meaning that the workroom door seemed to be staying open more often than it was closed.

Snatches of conversations and sounds filtered through to her, which she tried to ignore, attempting to focus instead on packaging the varieties of prank biscuits she'd baked two days before. Still, various bits floated in and Hermione caught herself gritting her teeth to keep from shouting at customers who seemed wrapped up in things that were mostly petty. At times, she wondered if she was going a bit loony, if sleep deprivation was taking its toll. Hermione had always been snappish when under stress, but there were moments she daydreamed about real violence, anything to relieve the churning anger that built inside her.

And then it happened. She heard the sound of a deep male voice, and it struck her as unusual. This time of day, it was mostly young men skulking about or witches with smaller children. Curious, she lowered the flame on the forgetfulness potion she was brewing and glass stirrer in hand, stepped over to the door to see what was happening. Hermione watched as a man who appeared to be the father to a young girl in pigtails indulged his daughter in her delight and enthusiasm for the shop's products.

"Look, Daddy!" came a laughing squeal. "There are sweets that make you change into animals! Do you think they have any elephants?"

"I don't know, sweetheart. Wouldn't an elephant be too big? If you turned into an elephant, our house would fall down," the father said, consideringly, hiding a smile. All his attention was focused on the little girl. "Maybe you should look for something smaller."

"Oooooh, I could be a lion!" she exclaimed.

"Lions can be very frightening," he said with mock terror. "What if you wanted to eat me? I see you could be a rabbit. How about that?"

"Then I'd hop away, Daddy," she said seriously, scrunching up her face.

"Oh, that won't work at all. You'll hop away and I'll never see you again. That would make me so sad," he said, solemnly shaking his head.

Hermione didn't hear the little girl's response, because she'd started shaking, and her ears had filled with a roaring sound. The glass stirrer slipped from her fingers as she turned away from the scene in the shop, but she barely noticed the tinkling that indicated the stirrer had broken. She felt tears building, the pressure forming behind her eyes, but at the same time, the rage was there too, the feelings of anger and sadness that had plagued her since the beginning flashed through her, resentment that her father would never look at her with that sort of love and pride again. Without giving it much thought, Hermione realized she desperately wanted to smash something, to pound something into tiny pieces, to find some outlet for this fury that seemed to be constantly with her.

She let out a half-gasp of laughter as she realized that there was nothing nearby but the packing crate filled with empty potions phials waiting to be filled. A crazy idea took hold of her, and she picked up one of the phials and with no more thought than that, threw it swiftly at the back wall, feeling a grim feeling of satisfaction when it shattered. She picked up the next one and threw it as well, and felt better when it shattered as well. After the third phial, George came to see what was going on, looking wary.

"Isn't it obvious?" she asked with an acid tone in response to his inquiry, then throwing another phial as hard as she possibly could throw it, watching impassively as it exploded against the wall.

"Right," George said slowly, watching her carefully. "I'm all for mayhem, but maybe now isn't the best time."

"I don't think I really give a shite," she said harshly.

"Hermione, maybe -" George started to say, but Hermione cut him off.

"NO!" she shouted, making him jump slightly. "No, I bloody don't want to talk or to take a nap or to go somewhere or do anything else. I want to stand here and smash every fucking piece of glass I can."

George blinked at her, and then shrugged, and leaned back against his workstation, away from her. "All right. Go ahead."

"FINE," she yelled, seizing another phial and throwing it. Then another. She didn't stop to look at George, just kept grabbing phials and flinging them as hard as she could against the wall. It wasn't until she was panting and sweating and pushing her hair back out of her eyes that it occurred to her that the crate had contained only about twenty or so phials, while she must have smashed more than fifty.

"Would you like for me to continue conjuring them? Or do you think you're done for a bit?" George asked mildly. There was no judgment in his face or his tone, but Hermione suddenly felt very ashamed of herself. Without warning, a sob hiccuped it's way out of her, to her horror; and she couldn't seem to stop herself from releasing great heaving sobs that left her breathless. George moved as if to wrap his arms around her, but she turned her back to him, and wrapped her arms around herself, and cried in the ugly way she hadn't done since she first heard about her father.

After a few minutes, Hermione sank to the floor, and rocked a bit, fat tears still coursing down her cheeks. The sobs were reduced to hiccups, then whimpers, and finally Hermione fell silent. Only then did she realize George was crouched next to her. She looked at him with great sadness, and obvious fear of reproach, and guilt.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her throat feeling raw and raspy, her lips a bit chapped.

"No need to apologize, I've been expecting something for a week or so. I hope it helped a bit," he said calmly. "Can I touch you now?"

She nodded wearily, closing her eyes. "Expecting this?" she asked, as he settled beside her and pulled her into his chest.

"Yeah, a bit. I think it's probably normal. You've been going about acting as if nothing had changed or you weren't sad. Your temper has gotten more volatile. For me, I went on a three day drinking binge. You apparently felt more outwardly destructive," came the wry explanation.

There was silence. Hermione's entire frame was drooping, she felt completely wrung out and tired. Resting against George was safe, peaceful. She knew already that she would probably feel mortified when she was less exhausted, but she was indifferent to that just now, really.

"Love, you've tried very hard to be strong, and I know it. But it's not good to bottle up everything you're feeling. And you are still sad and angry about your father dying. Better to face up to that and get on with it than to push it down until you get the point you can't ignore it," George said in a quiet tone.

"I don't want you to have to deal with this," she said in a small voice. "You've enough to be getting on with."

George gave a half-sigh, half- laugh. "Oh, love, I'm your partner, remember? It's not dealing with anything to be here for you when you are in pain. It's sort of what I agreed to. You were here for me with a lot less reason to be."

"You needed me," she said helplessly.

"And you don't need me? I wish you wouldn't be so afraid to feel any of this around me," George said quietly.

"I just . . . I don't want to burden you," she said.

George rested his chin on top of her head. "Hermione, I'm not going to break if you share your grief with me. I won't think less of you. And I need for you to share everything with me if we are going to work."

"I'm sorry," she said again, though George knew she wasn't apologizing for her breakdown this time.

"I know," he said softly. "Right. I'm going to clean this up, and then I'm putting you to bed."

Hermione stirred, and made a noise of protest.

"Hermione, sweets, you're more than a bit exhausted. Let me take care of this, and then I'll take care of you." He kissed her cheek, and helped her to stand up, holding her steady as she swayed a bit. He led her carefully to the stairs up to the flat, and urged her to sit down and wait for him there. Moments later, he'd carefully amassed all the broken glass and then vanished it. He stuck his head out of the workroom and said they'd be unavailable for a short time, and then returned to Hermione.

The force of her tantrum seemed to have purged her of her rage, which in turn seemed to have drained her completely of energy. Not that she'd slept well in weeks, or, despite George's best efforts, eaten particularly well. She was sitting on the step, leaning against the wall to keep herself upright. George helped her stand up, then scooped her up in his arms and carried her upstairs. She was already half-asleep when George set her on the bed. He helped her remove her shoes and her jeans and jumper and then tucked her into bed, kissing her forehead. Hermione was fast asleep.

-o0o-

George had to make quite the effort to be even half the cheerful bloke he pretended to be these days. He wasn't morose, exactly, but he felt tired and a little sad that Hermione struggled so hard to hide her feelings from him. At least that was over; he rather thought so anyway. She was still sleeping when Lee appeared just as the shop was closing.

"Hullo, Weasley. Thought you might be up for a drink or two," Lee said blithely as Verity waved at her boss and his friend and left.

"Can't, but thanks. Hermione's asleep upstairs, don't want to leave her alone after this afternoon," George replied tiredly.

Lee followed George into the workroom, frowning. "What happened? And don't tell me you've not got something around here, mate, I won't believe you."

George smiled grimly, then summoned a bottle of firewhiskey from a box underneath his workstation and conjured two glasses. "She had quite an eppy. Smashed about sixty-five potions phials against the back wall here, one at a time. Still not entirely sure what set her off, but 's not surprising, really. Been refusing to admit anything's wrong and I know from painfully personal experience one can't keep that up forever."

"Right you are. She's asleep, you said?" Lee asked, swallowing his drink expertly.

"Fairly well exhausted her, not that it would take much these days. I think she'll be a bit better for it now. It was rather a strain trying to hide it all from me," George answered, a trace of resentment evident.

Lee shook his head. "Trying to take care of you still, innit she? Remember how she was in school, mate? Never could admit when something may have been a bit too much. Our fifth year, when she took all those classes nearly did her in, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember vaguely. Most of that year centered around her damn cat and Ron thinking her cat had eaten Scabbers. You know, there's an idea," George said slowly.

Lee quirked an eyebrow at his friend. "Oh no. I recognize that look, and it rarely precedes anything good. What are you thinking about, Georgie?"

"I'm thinking that I should get her a new cat. I'm sure she misses that hideous old thing and it would be something a lot less complicated than me to look after. Might make her feel better."

For a moment Lee stared at his best friend. "But you hate cats," he finally said, a bit of wonder in his voice. "Oh, George, you're in love with Granger."

"Yeah, I am. What of it?" George asked, a bit belligerently.

"Have you mentioned that bit to Hermione yet?"

"Er, no. Not as such. She told me not to do, not until I knew what it meant. And right now, well, doesn't seem quite the time, given everything that's going on."

"Has she told you? She's head over heels for you, you great lump, even if she hasn't quite worked it out yet."

George fidgeted with his glass before looking up at Lee with hooded eyes. "She's not said anything. But again, she's been rather preoccupied. Do you really think she's, you know?"

Lee chuckled. "Yeah, I do mate. Dunno why the pair of you are so shy about it. You've practically told off your family and her best friend for each other, which ought to have been an indication, don't you think?"

"Right, yeah. So I'm a bit dense. Not like we've really been together all that long though, is it?" George mumbled, making Lee laugh out loud.

"Tell yourself whatever you like, George." They were interrupted by a sleepy voice and rumpled hair from the top of the stairs.

"George? Who's with you? Lee?" Hermione began to slowly make her way downstairs, still looking tired.

"Hey love, maybe you should go back to bed. Didn't disturb you, did we? Lee stopped by for a drink," George said, hastening to the stairs to meet her.

"No, didn't disturb me, just woke up, that's all. I didn't really eat lunch, so I ought to eat dinner. I'm so tired I doubt I'll be up late. I hate to ask, but -" Hermione was interrupted by Lee.

"How about I go grab something? You're in no condition to cook, Granger, and Georgie looks nearly as done in as you." Lee tossed back the remainder of his drink, and refuse the galleons George tried to give him. "You think you can eat something substantial, Hermione? Look as if you might blow away with a strong wind."

She gave him a wan smile. "I've not been eating much, but I'm hungry now. Whatever you bring back will be fine."

"A curry then? Or Italian takeaway?" he asked. Both George and Hermione shrugged. "Right, whatever I come across first then. I'll floo in from the Leaky. Cheers."

"Come on, Hermione, back upstairs and resting," George ordered with a smile.

"Yes, sir," muttered Hermione, but she allowed him to usher her into the flat, and settled on the sofa with a sigh.

George retrieved two butterbeers and sat next to her. She accepted it from him, but didn't meet his eyes. So he reached out and tipped her chin up with a one long finger, and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Just feeling a bit mortified," she said.

"About what? That's no worse than how you found me. A damned sight better, actually, I'd say," he said mildly.

"Maybe, but George, I feel awful."

George regarded her for a moment. He remembered, vaguely, some embarrassment, but it was overlaid with indifference and aching. There was no right thing to say, not really, that would make her feel better, he reckoned, so her opted for the truth.

"Love, I do not think less of you for being as human as the rest of us," George said in a light tone, but with a serious expression Hermione recognized. "I know it's hard for you, but I appreciate it about you, you know."

His words seemed to startle with Hermione, who blinked once and then leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her lips to him. It seemed as if it had been ages since she had initiated physical contact between them, though she hadn't shied away from it or failed to reciprocate it. This small gesture from her made him want to sigh in relief. For the first time, George felt a tension he'd been only somewhat aware of dissolve. She still wanted to be here, still wanted to be with him. He might be forgiven for the enthusiasm with which he responded that kiss.

Things had progressed to a state of undress, though fortunately not indecency, when Lee returned with the food. He cleared his throat loudly, leaning against the doorframe, takeout bags dangling from his hands. George groaned softly, and Hermione smiled a genuine smile and chuckled, summoning her shirt and slipping it back on with only red-tinged cheeks.

"I'm so pleased to see you are doing better, Hermione. Also that blue really is a fine color in a bra for you." Lee accompanied his words with a lecherous leer, and a wink.

"Shut it, Jordan," George said, but without acrimony. "What did you turn up?"

"Chinese. I have a variety, and a fair amount is mild enough for someone who hasn't had a big appetite of late," Lee leveled a more severe look at Hermione.

"Thanks, mate. It's appreciated, even if the timing isn't," George said, rising from the sofa to gather plates and utensils. Lee laid out the food and Hermione sniffed appreciatively.

"That smells good," she said, a faint tone of surprise evident.

"Been awhile since that's happened?" Lee asked, knowingly. She nodded, looking down. "Well, then I'm glad I found something to tempt you. C'mon, Granger, come sit down and I'll regale you with tales from our second year that George would probably rather never be shared."

George actually turned around to glare at his best mate. "You wouldn't," he said warningly.

"Wouldn't I?" Lee smirked.

"If you do, I'll tell her about your third year and -" George said, crossing his arms and looking down at Lee.

"Oi, you play dirty, mate! Is he dirty like that in bed, Granger?"

Hermione snorted. "Oh no, no bedroom talk, Jordan. I'm not encouraging your filthy mind." Almost without noticing, Hermione had started eating food, looking genuinely satisfied, the strained or indifferent expression George had grown accustomed to at meal-times finally absent.

"I know," George said, finally seating himself and pulling a carton of lo mein towards him, "tell her about that time we managed to sneak into the Hufflepuff common room and turn everything red and gold."

Lee laughed loudly. "That was a good one. So, our first year was Charlie Weasley's last year, and there was actually a decent Hufflepuff team. Slytherin was always in the lead for the House Cup, but they were out of it in Quidditch because their Keeper was so bad. Ravenclaw were training a new seeker, so they weren't fantastic either, and Gryffindor was to play Hufflepuff last. Gryffindor had won both games and Hufflepuff were down one, but had had a blowout against the Slytherins, so the points were really close. . ."

Hermione listened avidly as Lee spun out the story of three overeager first years and an incredible Quidditch match that was barely won by Charlie Weasley's fantastic catch of the Snitch. His voice was so mellifluous that it was easy to get caught up in the story he told and Hermione was surprised to see her plate had emptied during the tale.

It was the most she'd eaten in some time. It was also the most engrossed she had been in something outside her own thoughts in at least a week. George was laughing with Lee and interjecting his own commentary at intervals, but his watchful eyes were focused on Hermione, and she was aware of his gaze. Every time she met his eyes, his smile grew a bit wider. By the end of the story, Hermione was laughing nearly as hard as George, while Lee explained how they managed to sneak back into the Common Room without being spotted, despite an indignant Professor Sprout demanding that the whole of Gryffindor Tower be questioned about the incident. She had apparently taken exception to the Hufflepuff banners being charmed so that whenever the Gryffindor Lion appeared, the Badger would curl up in a ball and tremble.

It felt good to laugh, and when George's hand crept across the table and secured hers in his grasp, she nearly beamed at him. The pleasure on his face, mingled with relief, and the absence of the consuming rage she'd felt, were enough to make her content. It may be fleeting, she considered silently, but it was still a firm step in the right direction.

-o0o-

_A/N: My apologies for the long delay, this chapter was troublesome, and went through a couple of versions. I hope it's worth the wait. As always, I love to hear your feedback, and welcome questions if you have them. Hope everyone is well – cheers._


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